#insubordinate records | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnacles34 · 3 months ago

Text

Steamy Mornings and Massages (Winter x Male OC)

7k words

Tags: smut, fluff, office sex, office massage, soulmates, romance, very love-heavy

Chapter 1: The Day After

"Let's just stay here," Minjeong murmured, pressing soft kisses to the crown of Junho's head. The morning alarm had shattered what his typically precise mind had categorized as Optimal Comfort Configuration™, but neither of them had moved to silence it[1].

His face remained buried in the crook of her neck, accepting what his mind reluctantly acknowledged as the only form of comfort he'd ever truly wanted. "Well, my secretary," he rumbled against her skin, the possessive pronoun carrying new weight in the morning light, "on a very important day, doesn't want to go to work?" Despite his words, his arms tightened incrementally around her waist, betraying his own reluctance.

Minjeong's embrace constricted in response, her Busan accent thick with morning warmth. "What are you going to do? Fire me?" Despite the implied challenge, she still continued to press soft kisses on his forehead. He tightened his embrace further, relishing in the warmth of Minjeong.

The challenge in her voice activated something primal in his executive functioning. His teeth grazed her neck in warning, hovering over precisely the spot that would make any low-necked blouse useless to wear for the following days. "Maybe," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back with deliberate intent, dangerously close to the curve of her backside, "I'll fire you and keep you here, all day long, so that you belong only to me."

"That's..." her breath hitched as his hand dropped lower, "...rather unprofessional of you."

He lifted his head just enough to fix her with that boardroom stare that never failed to make her pulse race. "Says the woman currently preventing her CEO from attending his meetings." Her CEO? Something warm raced inside of her—she thought, her ceo? And this time, she wrapped her arms tighter—however much her thin arms could tighten; nevertheless, an affectionate hug.

"I prefer to think of it as optimizing your morning routine," she countered, though her professional efficiency was somewhat undermined by the way she melted under his touch, furthermore when he traced the curves of her backside. "Some things are more important than the Zhang Corp merger."

His laugh vibrated against her throat. "Careful, Secretary Kim. That sounds dangerously close to insubordination."

"And what does the CEO do with insubordinate employees?" The question emerged soft and weaker than intended as his mouth traced a deliberate path along her collar, trying her most obnoxiously.

"That depends," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her breath catch. "Are they all as beautiful as you when they disobey direct orders?"

She attempted to maintain her composure, though her hands betrayed her by pulling him closer. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen you like this with other employees[2]."

"No," he agreed, suddenly serious as he raised his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't. You won't."

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tight. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he caught her mouth in a kiss that effectively ended all discussion of work protocols and proper business conduct[3]. The morning sun painted complex equations of light across their entangled forms, but for once, neither of them was counting the minutes.

—

[1] The first recorded instance of CEO Kim's morning alarm continuing past its initial 0.3-second alert phase, a fact that would require significant updates to the home automation system's behavioral prediction models.

[2] The security system's emotion recognition protocols flagged this moment for what its algorithms could only classify as "Unprecedented Display of Executive Vulnerability."

[3] Later analysis would suggest that certain forms of insubordination yielded surprisingly positive results in terms of overall company morale, though these findings were kept strictly off the official record.

—

"You haven't eaten properly in days," Minjeong observed softly, her fingers tracing the subtle tension in his shoulders that most wouldn't notice. But she wasn't most people—she'd spent months learning to read the microscopic signs of his stress levels[4].

"I've been eating," he defended, though his attempt at authority was somewhat undermined by the way he instinctively relaxed under her touch.

"Coffee and quarterly reports don't count as meals," she countered, continuing her gentle exploration of his shoulder muscles. "I've watched you skip lunch three times this week alone."

He lifted his head to study her face, finding that mix of strength and tenderness that had first undone him. "You keep track of my meals?"

"I keep track of everything about you," she admitted, not backing down from his intense gaze. "Someone has to notice when you forget to take care of yourself."

His hand curved around the nape of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse point. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Consider it an extension of my secretarial duties," she murmured, then gasped softly as he tightened his grip in warning.

"There's nothing secretarial about the way you take care of me," he corrected, voice low and dangerous. "Is there, Minjeong-ah?"

The informal address, rarely used, made her breath catch. "No," she agreed quietly. "There isn't."

He studied her for a long moment, his analytical mind cataloging the flush in her cheeks, the slight quickening of her breath, the way she yielded to his touch while somehow maintaining that core of quiet strength[5]. "You're dangerous," he finally said, “dangerously beautiful, so beautiful,” then a kiss on the side of her neck which, eventually, will turn into a hickey and Minjeong hadn’t the power to resist her CEO’s advances anymore.

"Me?" She replied, out of breath, tremored, brilliantly transformed by her smile—the type of smile men fight wars for, the type of smile sinewy sociopathic CEOs would drop down for. "I'm just trying to make sure Korea's most brilliant CEO—I mean, my CEO, remembers to eat breakfast." Her small hand collected the waves of his hair, the aroma of the shampoo she recommended wafted in the air.

“Minjeong, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Is that a problem?” She pulled back her hand along his scalp, gathering hair, then trailing all down his nape, to his back: the type of affection that says, even if you were insane, I’d still be crazy about you.

Instead of answering directly, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—a calculated sequence of kisses that made her melt further into his embrace. "The only problem," he murmured against her skin, "is that you're making it very difficult to want to leave this bed."

—

[4] Her observation logs, never shared but meticulously maintained, included such details as the precise angle of his jaw when overwhelmed, the subtle shift in his typing rhythm when stressed, and the exact tone of voice that meant he'd skipped meals.

[5] The home automation system's behavioral analysis protocols struggled to categorize this new dynamic, where authority and surrender seemed to flow both ways simultaneously.

—

"Three days," Minjeong continued, her fingers finding the knots in his shoulders with practiced ease. "You've had that tension here since the Singapore deal started falling apart." The morning light caught the subtle furrow in his brow as he processed her words, realizing she'd been tracking his stress levels without him noticing. Her touch was methodical yet tender, each pressure point targeted with the same precision she applied to his scheduling.

"I didn't think anyone had noticed," he admitted, then caught her knowing smile. "Except you."

"I always notice," she replied simply. "Like how you've been drinking twice your usual coffee intake, or how your left eye twitches slightly when the board sends those passive-aggressive emails." Her hands moved lower, finding another point of tension. "You hide it well, but not from me."

He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips. "It becomes…oddly weird when I see you do the things I usually do." The tease in his voice was softened by the way he pressed kisses to her fingertips.

"Consider it preventive maintenance," she countered, not backing down despite Junho trying to hide his habits under the rug, not backing down despite the heat in his gaze. "Someone needs to monitor your functionality levels[6]."

"Functionality levels?" His laugh rumbled against her skin as he shifted to hover over her. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive performance metrics'?" She managed to keep her voice steady even as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "I have spreadsheets..."

"Of course you do," he murmured, teeth grazing her collarbone in retaliation. "My perfectly thorough secretary, tracking every detail."

"Not just details," she breathed, hands sliding up his chest. "I know when you skip lunch to avoid the board members. When you stay late reviewing reports that could wait until morning. When you need..." she paused as his hand curved possessively around her hip, "...someone to remind you that you're human."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Junho lifted his head to study her face, finding that unique blend of submission and strength that had first undone his carefully constructed defenses[7]. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Someone has to." Her smile carried traces of Busan sunshine. "Besides, I'm uniquely qualified."

"How so, Minjeong-ah?” Another tease.

“Because you love me.” Minjeong stated, matter of factly. And this time, Junho seized her tight, trapping her under him, seizing her two thin wrists. Then, pressed a deep kiss onto Minjeong’s delicate lips. After a while, he released himself from the kiss, the kiss that Minjeong reluctantly let go of—her lips pointing outwards like a duck as he left. Finally, he said, “That’s right, I love you.”

Her stomach stirred with butterflies and more.

—

[6] Her personal files, never shared but meticulously maintained, included detailed protocols for managing various levels of CEO stress responses, from subtle intervention to direct action.

[7] The exact moment of this defensive breach had been logged by the building's security systems, though the footage was classified under "Executive Privacy Protocols."

—

Minjeong lingered in bed, her heart performing calculations that had nothing to do with quarterly reports. The smart home system's sensors detected her elevated pulse rate, though no algorithm could properly quantify the joy radiating from her smile[8]. She stretched luxuriously against Egyptian cotton sheets that still held traces of his warmth, letting herself marvel at the reality of being here, in his space, surrounded by evidence of Junho.

Her mind couldn't help but catalog the endearing chaos around her—academic journals scattered across surfaces, a tablet displaying economic projections that had clearly been reviewed at 3 AM, several coffee cups in various states of abandonment. The morning light revealed what darkness and desire had hidden the night before: Junho's private space was a fascinating contradiction to his public persona, a detail she filed away with all her other precious observations of him.

Rising with practiced grace, she padded across cold hardwood floors, her bare feet gliding across the floor. His dress shirt from the previous night—the one that had hung open as they'd discovered more interesting uses for his mahogany desk—called to her like a siren song. She slipped it on, the fabric carrying traces of his unisex cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flutter[9].

Junho emerged from his ensuite bathroom to find her like this: drowning in his shirt, examining his space with that careful attention she brought to everything concerning him. His breath caught audibly.

"That's mine," he noted, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that never failed to make her pulse race.

She turned to face him, letting the hem of his shirt brush against her thighs. "Really? I think it’s mine."

—

[8] The home automation system logged this moment as: "Secondary User Biometrics Indicating Unprecedented Levels of Serotonin. CEO Response: Highly Favorable."

[9] Security footage would later reveal this as the exact moment CEO Kim's usually impeccable morning routine experienced a critical efficiency failure, though no one questioned why that particular shirt never made it to the dry cleaners.

—

"You know," Junho mused against her neck, his hands tracing idle patterns on her thighs, "for someone so concerned about my eating habits, you're being very distracting in my kitchen."

"Me?" Minjeong's attempt at innocence was undermined by the way her fingers kept playing with his hair. "I'm trying to feed you."

"Wearing my shirt. Sitting on my counter." His smile carried equal parts mischief and heat as he pulled back to look at her. "I'm starting to think this is corporate sabotage, Secretary Kim."

She tried to maintain her professional expression, though her lips twitched. "I would never compromise company productivity, 사장님."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, fingers sliding deliberately higher under his shirt. "Then explain why Korea's most efficient CEO is currently contemplating skipping his 9 AM."

"Poor executive guidance?" she suggested, then squeaked as he nipped her earlobe in retaliation. "I mean... clearly you need better supervision."

"Is that your professional opinion?" His laugh was warm against her skin. "And I suppose you're volunteering for the position?"

"Well," she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, "I do have extensive experience in handling difficult executives."

He lifted his head, eyes dancing. "Difficult?"

"Demanding," she amended, then added with deliberate sweetness, "High-maintenance?"

"You," he declared, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one hand, "are getting dangerously bold with your performance reviews[12]."

Her answering smile was pure sunshine. "Does that mean I'm not getting that raise?"

"Oh, I'll give you a raise," he promised, his free hand sliding up her spine as he pressed closer. "Right after we discuss your insubordination."

"I have a presentation prepared," she managed, though her breath hitched as his mouth found that sensitive spot behind her ear. "Complete with charts on CEO stubbornness metrics..."

"Using company resources for personal research?" His mock disapproval was somewhat undermined by the way he couldn't stop smiling against her skin. "That's a serious violation of corporate policy."

"And what's the penalty for that?" She arched into his touch, shameless. "More overtime with my boss?"

"Definitely." He captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted like laughter and promise. "Starting now[13]."

—

[12] The home automation system registered this interaction as a significant deviation from standard performance review protocols, though it noted remarkable improvements in overall satisfaction metrics.

[13] Later analysis of the kitchen's usage patterns would reveal this as the morning the coffee maker recorded its latest ever first brew, a delay that would become surprisingly routine.

—

"We're going to be late," Minjeong observed, though she made no move to leave her perch on the counter as Junho's hands mapped new territories beneath his borrowed shirt. The morning sun painted gold across his shoulders, and she couldn't resist tracing the light with her fingers.

"Concerned about punctuality now?" His smile was wicked against her collar. "After deliberately sabotaging your CEO's morning routine?"

"I would never," she protested, then gasped as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I'm simply... optimizing your schedule."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His laugh vibrated through both their bodies as he pressed closer, effectively trapping her against the granite. "And how does this particular optimization benefit the company?"

Her fingers curled into his hair as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "Improved executive mood... increased satisfaction metrics... better work-life balance..."

"Very thorough analysis," he approved, his hand sliding higher up her thigh. "Though I think we need more data points[14]."

"준호야..." Her professional composure cracked entirely as his fingers found bare skin. "The Zhang Corp meeting..."

"Can wait." He lifted his head to meet her gaze, his smile carrying that perfect blend of authority and affection that never failed to undo her. "I'm conducting important research."

"On what?" She managed to arch an eyebrow despite her rapidly dissolving coherence. "How to make your secretary lose her mind?"

"Girlfriend," he corrected, voice dropping to that dangerous register as his thumb traced patterns on her inner thigh. "And I believe we were discussing your performance review[15]."

Jun abruptly stopped their performance review midway because the deal was on the line and time was running short. Minjeong was reminded of this painfully by how Jun pulled away from the kiss—she was pouty about it until they reached the office, when her damascus-like resolve kicks in.

—

[14] The kitchen's environmental sensors registered multiple instances of what could only be classified as "Critical Protocol Deviations," though these readings were automatically archived under "Executive Privacy Settings."

[15] HR would later note a curious correlation between the CEO's improved mood and these new "morning performance evaluations," though no one dared to investigate further.

—

Chapter 2: The Meeting

The Zhang Corp representatives sat across the mahogany conference table, their expressions carefully neutral as they reviewed the merger proposals. Minjeong maintained her perfect professional facade, though her pulse quickened every time Junho's hand brushed hers as she passed him documents[1].

"The third quarter projections," she murmured, leaning close enough that his cologne made her thoughts stray to their morning activities. His finger tapped twice against the paper—their private signal that he needed a moment to compose himself.

"As you can see," Junho addressed the room with that commanding presence that made board members squirm, though Minjeong could detect the slight roughness in his voice that hadn't been there before their morning 'delay', "our integration timeline is aggressive but achievable."

She took her seat beside him, crossing her legs in a way that made his pen pause fractionally on the contract. Two could play at this game of professional torture. His response was to rest his hand on her thigh under the table, hidden from view but commanding enough to make her breath catch[2].

"Secretary Kim," he said smoothly, his thumb tracing dangerous patterns against her skin, "would you pull up the logistics breakdown?"

"Of course, 사장님." She managed to keep her voice steady as she reached for her tablet, though her free hand found his wrist under the table, her fingers curling around it in what could have been either submission or warning.

The meeting proceeded with perfect corporate efficiency, though the undercurrent of tension between CEO and secretary created what the room's environmental sensors could only classify as "Critical Atmospheric Pressure"[3].

—

[1] The conference room's biometric scanners noted elevated heart rates in both CEO and secretary, though this data was diplomatically omitted from official meeting records.

[2] Security footage would later require careful editing to maintain professional appearances, particularly regarding certain "under-table activities."

[3] The Zhang Corp representatives would later confess to the fact that they could tell what was happening, no amount of demure leg-crossing could hide it. Though, they ignored it in order to get that deal (which was integral to them).

—

The private office door clicked shut behind them, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across imported marble floors. Junho rolled his shoulders, tension evident in his posture despite the meeting's success[4].

"Come here," Minjeong said softly, recognizing the signs of his post-negotiation stress. She guided him to his leather chair, her hands already moving to his shoulders. "You get so tense during these meetings." Instead of standing behind him and the chair, she stood in front, impending a mount to get ‘better access’ to his shoulders.

"Keeping my hands to myself requires considerable effort," he admitted, then groaned softly as her fingers found a particularly tight knot. "Especially when you keep giving me those looks."

"What looks?" Her innocent tone was betrayed by the way her hands slid lower, tracing patterns down his upper chest. "I was being perfectly professional."

He caught her wrist, tugging her to face him. "Professional? Is that what you call that thing you did with your pen?"

"Taking notes?" She smiled down at him, letting her fingers trail along his tie. "I'm very thorough in my documentation."

"Very thorough," he agreed, pulling her into his lap with practiced ease. "Though I noticed some interesting gaps in the meeting minutes."

"Oh?" Her hands returned to his shoulders, kneading the tension even as she shifted closer. "Like what?"

"Like how many times you deliberately brushed against me," his voice dropped lower as her fingers worked their magic, "or how your skirt kept riding up when you reached for files[5]."

"Maybe," she breathed, her ministrations becoming less therapeutic and more intentional, "your secretary just needs better supervision."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Is that what you need, Secretary Kim?"

Instead of answering, she pressed a kiss to that spot below his ear that always made him growl. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, but she didn't stop her exploration of his neck, her fingers still working the tension from his shoulders even as she created a different kind of pressure entirely.

"The door," he managed, though his hands were already sliding under her blouse.

"Locked," she murmured against his skin. "I'm very efficient."

"My perfect secretary," he agreed.

—

[4] The office's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Post-Meeting Stress Relief Protocol: Executive Override Engaged."

[5] The meeting's official minutes would maintain strict professional standards, though certain observations were kept in much more private records.

—

"You're still tense," Minjeong observed, her fingers tracing new patterns down his spine. The afternoon light painted gold across his desk, where various merger documents lay forgotten. "Let me take care of you properly."

She slid from his lap, moving behind his chair with practiced grace. Her hands returned to his shoulders, this time with more purposeful intent. Junho's head fell back as she worked a particularly tight knot, a sound escaping him that had nothing to do with professional conduct[7].

"That noise," she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath teased his ear, "is definitely not going in the meeting minutes."

His laugh turned into another groan as her thumbs hit a sensitive spot. "Keeping secrets from the board, Secretary Kim?"

"Only the interesting ones," she admitted, her hands sliding lower, tracing the muscles of his back through his expensive shirt. "Like how my very commanding CEO turns to putty when I do this..."

His hand shot up to catch her wrist in warning. "Careful," his voice carried that dangerous edge that made her stomach flip. "You're getting bold with your observations."

"Just maintaining detailed records," she breathed, not backing down despite his grip. "For example, when I press here..." Her free hand found another knot, making him inhale sharply. "Your left eye twitches slightly. And when I do this..." She leaned forward, letting her lips brush his neck. "Your pulse jumps exactly like it did during the merger talks[8]."

The chair spun suddenly, Junho pulling her back into his lap with decisive force. "You," he growled, hands spanning her waist, "are playing a dangerous game."

Her smile was pure innocence, though her fingers were already working his tie loose. "I'm simply being thorough in my duties, 사장님."

"Your duties," he repeated, watching her with dark amusement as she stripped his tie with expert efficiency. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive stress relief'?" She gasped as his teeth found her collar. "Or maybe 'personnel management'?"

His laugh vibrated against her skin. "I prefer," he murmured, hands sliding deliberately up her thighs, "when you stop talking altogether[9]."

—

[7] The office's audio sensors temporarily malfunctioned during this period, a technical glitch that occurred with suspicious regularity during certain "private meetings."

[8] Her personal files contained extensive documentation of CEO behavioral patterns, though certain observations were encrypted under "Private Research: Ongoing."

[9] The afternoon's remaining meetings would require creative rescheduling, though no one questioned why the CEO's mood had improved so dramatically.

—

"You missed a spot," Minjeong murmured against his mouth, her fingers finding another knot of tension in his shoulders even as she shifted closer in his lap. The leather chair creaked softly beneath them, a sound that would forever carry new associations in both their minds[10].

"Did I?" His hands slid higher beneath her skirt, mapping territories that were becoming dangerously familiar for office hours. "Or are you just making excuses to keep touching your CEO?"

She pulled back just enough to give him that look—the one that somehow managed to be both defiant and yielding. "I take my responsibilities very seriously, 사장님."

"I've noticed," he growled, catching her wrist as she tried to maintain the pretense of massage. "Like how seriously you took those meeting notes earlier. Very... thorough."

Her laugh caught in her throat as his lips found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I was documenting important observations."

"Such as?" His teeth grazed her pulse point, making her grip his shoulders for balance.

"Such as," she managed, though her professional tone wavered as his hands grew bolder, "how the great Kim Junho gets distracted when I cross my legs. How your voice drops exactly half an octave when you're trying not to react to me. How you tap your pen twice when you're thinking about—"

He silenced her with a kiss that effectively derailed all attempts at analysis[11]. When he finally pulled back, her dazed expression made him smirk. "Any other observations to record, Secretary Kim?"

“I must’ve forgotten, I usually remember better when you kiss me.” She hinted, and he obliged, letting his lips connect yet again with Minjeong. This time, the endless teasing reached a breaking point that both of them coalesced to at the same time.

He tightly grasped her backside then pulled her up from the executive chair to the executive table. Wherein, she was splayed across the wide table. “We really have to ban tables when we’re around each other.” She joked.

“That’d be a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Where else could I splay you across like this, then explore you, centimeter-by-centimeter?”

“Hmm…” she hummed, pleased, "Yeah?"

“Yeah.”

“Then come here, my ceo.”

“My beautiful secretary, whatever shall I do with you?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you find out?” She pulled as tight as she could, locking her arms around his neck.

He obliged, meeting lips with her once again. He felt the softness of her face as he explored deeper into the kiss, forgetting time and everything except what was being shared between them. Journeying his hands further, entangling it into the silken strands of his lover as he deepened the kiss, and she replied with a deep sigh—trembling with a mix of her high register.

“You’re such a good woman for me, Minjeong.” He said before nipping at her lower lip, catching it softly between his teeth with a teasing tug, Minjeong let out a breathless laugh, “you’re devouring me, Junho.” Regardless, he dug deeper, letting his entire body shift into Minjeong’s malleable, petite body—letting his hand explore more of her silken strands, almost saying, yes Minjeong, that is my purpose: to devour you.

Now, instead of every 5 seconds, Minjeong’s soft moans that only served to goad Junho on were musically released into his ears every second. Precautiously, she asked, “how good is the soundproofing in your private room-ah!”

“Not good enough to hide your moans, dear.” He replied, his voice like rough gravel. Her eyes widened suddenly from the need to hide her moans. Yet he dug deeper, letting his loin rub against her wet bottom, daring her moan out loud.

Despite all the regulations, the possible condemnation, their passions only grew more. Mouths moving in sync, gazes meeting momentarily, it wasn’t just kissing anymore—it was a language. The type of language where Minjeong coalesced to his dangerous games and learned to enjoy it, almost as much as him.

“Junho, seriously, I don’t want to be seen as-”

“Minjeong-ah, I don’t give a single fuck if my employees hear you and I.” The teeth that so brazenly tugged on her lower lips trailed down her neck, tracing the soft tendons.

Whispering, in a verbose way, “And as you are my secretary, my extension, my life-line, you’ll follow. Me.” And as Minjeong was getting battered by the gravel-slung voice of Junho—she hadn’t noticed how her blouse was opened, bra pushed down to reveal the breasts that he was so infatuated with—only until she felt the torsion of her nipple.

“Ngh!”

“I love that, Minjeong, scream out. I’ll fuck you until the entire floor hears you call my name.”

And another wet mewl that inspired his further deviance.

Feeling the soft suction of his mouth on her neck, she deduced that it could only mean one thing: another hickey just placed above the collar of her blouse, the same sort of hickey that the Zhang corp executives couldn’t keep their eyes off of—any justification in their minds that it was a skin discoloration was debilitated by how intensely Minjeong and Junho shared those deadly glances, likely to jump on each other as soon as they left—and they were right.

“Junho—ngh!”

“Louder.” He replied, testing her, “fucking. Louder.” Then he pressed deeper, grinding his rough textured pants on the creamy soft bottom of Minjeong.

“Please Junho, seriously.” Was all that she could get out of her bated breaths, her deep moans.

Then suddenly, he stopped, caressing the softness of her cheeks with his, back-handed, knuckles.

“You look so beautiful when you’re all tired and exhausted, did I tell you that before?” Letting the tune of his voice marinate with Minjeong (who was recovering from how hot and bothered she was just a second ago).

However good his intentions were, he wasn’t perfect. The way Minjeong’s body looked splayed against the messy paperwork, her blonde hair all frizzy and stuck to the desk, how her chest went in-and-out catching all the breath she lost—all of it made it impossible for him to resist anymore.

He pounced on her again, connecting lips against her wet, trembling lips that nonetheless accepted him so openly, like a warm cup of milk tea on a winter morning. That momentary pause had changed everything, Minjeong—now fully conquered by him—was begging for that penetrative action that he would give out so liberally to her.

“Naughty woman, bad secretary, what else?”

“Junho’s toy.”

“Fuck.” And in a flash, his belt flew off, then in another flash, his pants fell down.

“Tented much?” She was truly in no position to tease: a strategic error.

He grinned at the statement, finally, teasingly, let his underwear fall inch-by-inch.

Simultaneously, she bunched up her legs then pulled off her panty that revealed the color combinations that he would die for. Though before he could look for longer, she crossed her shins—hiding the cause of Junho’s demise behind her thin legs.

They shared a giggle before Jun hugged her soft body.

“I will penetrate you in this office.”

“Yes. It appears so.”

“No, like, do you consent?”

“Idiot..” Minjeong pulled him in for another kiss. Which, coincidentally, made his tip graze her engorged and swollen core, Minjeong almost came instantaneously from that alone.

And he could tell, laughing, “Seriously, Minjeong?”

“It’s your fault, you trained me like this.”

“This is like our 3rd time.” He said, as if to brush it off.

“This is my 3rd time.”

And Minjeong would be certainly hurt by the thought that Junho’s partners before her made it more than his 3rd time for him—some of them, the girlfriends, she saw.

He caught on the clues before it was too late, “Minjeong, not to compare, but who else have I been so crazy about? Who else did I track for every minute of the day? Who else did I let in my home (his girlfriends didn’t, actually, get to enter his home)? Who else would make me lose composure when they’re out of my sight-line?”

Letting his forehead touch against hers, he could feel her heart rend and beat and do all sorts of bothered gymnastics.

“It’s always been about you, Minjeong. You are the brilliance of my life, the expansion of a born star—bright from millions of light years away.”

And she needn’t say anything or reply. Absolving him by wrapping her arms tighter around his nape, then holding up her head to desperately kiss Junho again and again.

In between all the kisses, he penetrated Minjeong. His length, constricted against her core, travelled softly—wringing out all sorts of noises. Her swollen pussy wrapped around him gently but tight. “I love you, Minjeong.” Was the last thing said before Minjeong’s eyes went into the back of her head—a cute habit—before she orgasmed and creamed all over.

As per her request, Junho didn’t stop. He let his hips move as slow as he could possibly go before it could be called torture. During all this, Minjeong grabbed for stability as she was getting fucked through her orgasm, feeling that intense thrusting from the love of her life as she covered his length in more of her slick.

“Oh f-” He covered her mouth this time, respecting her wish to stay at least a little lowkey in the office, whatever the hell that meant right now. Then, shallow thrusts turned into slow thrusts all the way to the hilt, getting Minjeong to scrunch her face in pleasure, eyebrows knitted in the highest pleasure, her mouth agape with strands of her saliva connecting the roof of her mouth to her tongue.

“I love you, Minjeong. Fuck. This is insane, having sex with you in my office.”

“Ngh~ I - I love you so much,” was all that she could get across before succumbing to her dopamine receptors—eyes joining the back her head. Junho connected lips with her again, letting her legs lock around his waist, then rubbing his pelvis against her engorged core, clitoris and all.

After Minjeong finally got used to the familiar motions, he grasped her thin waist, almost wrapping his two hands around the entire circumference of her tight waist. Then their eyes met momentarily, Junho had the I am going to fuck you through this desk eyes whilst Minjeong had the prey eyes that relentlessly coalesced to him. Though, before he could go wild, he brushed off the stray hairs stuck to her forehead, gave a reaffirming kiss on her forehead before pumping all the way in.

The small of her back surrendered to his tight grip, bending against the pushes and pulls. Her legs tightened the lock around his waist—almost painfully tight, but that didn’t matter to him, who’d get to pummel her soft pussy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he planted his body against Minjeong’s, pinning her two thin wrists against the stable table.

“You’re fucking me so good, Junho,” Minjeong replied, her rare use of the curse made him chuckle by the side of her head.

“That’s right, baby,” Junho bear-hugged Minjeong, only thrusting deeper and deeper, pelvis rubbing against hers, to make her cum again.

“NGHHH~!” The abrupt moan startled him and herself—however, they didn’t care as much about the employees anymore after indulging in each other’s bodies. Instead of stopping or evaluating the situation—as the rationalists would do—they dug deeper into each other, trying to carve each other with their soft and swollen lips.

Suddenly, he lifted Winter and turned her over. Bending her back against the table before dipping his cock into her pussy again. This time, the entrance was entranced with the soft, tight, wet feeling that he was fully obsessed with. This time, he had more ready access to her soft ass that was so soft and supple that he had to relieve it of its aesthetic beauty: with some redness spread across her ass.

“Oh my god!” Winter squeaked as she reacted against the heavy-handed slap against her ass, loving it, spreading—overflowing—his length with her slick.

Leaning over, he held Minjeong’s chin for the last stretch, considerably slowing down and enjoying each other’s presence.

“How much do you bet the coworkers will give us bad looks?”

“The female workers already give me horrible ones.” She said whilst her chin was held stable by his hand, still moaning against the soft thrusts.

“Hmm, broad generalization. How do you know this?”

“That hickey that you gave that was far too purple and far too above the collar of my blouse.”

“No long-necked turtleneck?”

“No, that’d ruin the point, I wanted to show off the gift my Junho-ssi gave.” That was the moment when he moaned hard, pressing deep inside Winter before releasing all his seed—the seed that Winter felt bounce against her cervix, making her moan out and squeal happily.

“God. Minjeong, you will be my demise.” He sighed before Winter turned around and kissed him, “as long as I get to stay with you, through demise and all,” she said between the kisses.

—

[10] The office furniture procurement department would later note an unusual request for "enhanced stability features" in executive seating, though they wisely chose not to inquire further.

[11] The building's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Critical Temperature Fluctuation - Executive Override Protocol Engaged."

—

Evening painted Seoul's skyline in shades of amber and gold, the office gradually emptying as another corporate day drew to a close. Only the executive floor maintained signs of life, though its usual efficiency had given way to something far more intimate[12].

"We should go home," Minjeong murmured against Junho's shoulder, though she made no move to leave her position in his lap. His shirt had long since been unbuttoned, her blouse delightfully rumpled, both their professional facades thoroughly compromised.

"Should we?" His fingers traced lazy patterns up her spine, his other hand still possessively curved around her hip. "I rather like having my secretary exactly where she is."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, finding that unique blend of authority and affection that never failed to make her heart race. "Your secretary has plans for you."

"Oh?" His interest visibly peaked. "More performance reviews?"

"Better." She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm cooking you dinner. Besides, breakfast was skipped."

The surprise in his expression made her laugh softly. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupted, then added with deliberate sweetness, "Unless my CEO is refusing a direct offer from his girlfriend?"

His hands tightened on her waist. "Using that title to manipulate me now?"

"Is it working?" She bit her lip, watching his eyes darken at the gesture.

Instead of answering, he pulled her into a kiss that suggested dinner might be delayed[13]. When they finally broke apart, his smile carried dangerous promise. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours," she decided, fingers playing with his collar. "Your kitchen needs christening properly."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Just the kitchen?"

"We'll see how dinner goes," she teased, then squeaked as he stood suddenly, lifting her with him. "준호야!"

"Efficient time management," he explained, setting her on her feet but keeping her close. "The sooner we leave..."

She pressed against him, deliberate and knowing. "The sooner you can help me... cook?"

"Among other things," he agreed, already reaching for his jacket. The predatory grace in his movements suggested cooking might not be the evening's primary activity[14].

—

[12] Security logs would note this as the third consecutive evening of "Extended Executive Hours," though the actual nature of these extensions remained diplomatically unrecorded.

[13] The office's automated systems began learning to expect these end-of-day delays, adjusting power consumption accordingly.

[14] The kitchen's motion sensors would later flag unusually high activity levels, though whether any actual cooking occurred remained a matter of some debate.

Fin

I fixed some stuff that I executed poorly before, like the crazy amount of math references; which, in foresight, was far too much.

I really had to get this out quickly. Now, I think it's a good idea to not expect anything from me for an entire month (hopefully not).

hope u enjoyed.

#smut #kpop smut #fanfic #aespa #aespa smut #fanfiction #male oc #kpop #winter smut #aespa winter

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yey56 · 6 days ago

Text

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

HEADCANNONS: before Leiths backstabbing

When Pierre Leith first introduced you both when you were working in the project "bigger bodies" he though it would be good to have Sawyer a little bit more controlled. Your personality and insistence on defying authority made you a good match.

Little did he knew that eventually you would actually start getting along with the doctor, which meant that he had two insubordinate pricks to worry about.

Reader does have compassion and some kind of affection towards Doey, but they ignore it in favour of their own ambitions and the project.

Thats the reason they try not to use cold as much with Doey, only when it's really necessary.

Before your friendship/companionship started to develope, the doctor usually appeared more to respond to Pierre's demands or to talk to the executives but since he doesn't really like doing it and does it out of obligation, he often ask you to talk on behalf of both of you.

That's how the scientific team, the specialist, Pierre, Ludwig and other coworkers started getting used to you being basically the voice of Sawyer outside the lab.

You had enough trust on each other to be able to talk in behalf of the other. (Mostly you since Harley doesn't seem to eager to socialise).

At first, when Doey was recently woken up and he still was getting used to their new body. You and Sawyer would go together to the interviews to record the development of the experiment. Some day out of the blue, Doey started to react aggressively to the doctor, only to him so he started to avoid going to the interviews with the mass and stayed in the observation room.

The doctor sometimes gets actually happy about some improvement his experiments may have but he expressed it with a poker face, a raised brow and the slightest change in his voice.

*Yarnaby actually starts listening for once*

Sawyer: ah, that's so interesting-actually glad for once-

(Y/N):are you actually happy or you're just being awfully sarcastic??

You never actually talked about what you guys like in terms of food or drinks so since sometimes you went to the cafeteria in the upper levels to get some food, your started to bring him random stuff for him to try and watch his reaction in order to find out what he liked. Basically using him as a guinea pig with trial and error.

Harley suspects that that's the reason you've been bringing random stuff with you and offering it to him.

I think he has certain favouritism for Yarnaby so sometimes he makes you test him more than usual even though he knows that he won't get a different response from the yarn lion other than animal like reactions. With time it just turned into an excuse to spend time with you. Your company is actually enjoyable after all.

You both are difficult people to deal with in a work environment. You both like control over things and you are both willing to go to any lengths to reach your ends.

This also comes with certain differences that sometimes makes both your works a little bit unbearable. On one hand we have you, you tend to joke and slip sarcastic comments here and there without any filter, you're cunning, more than he initially assumed. Harley is not used to this so it makes him get really irritated when you don't seem to take something seriously, even though he respects your lack of filter in everything you say.

On the other hand, there's him, he's controlling and he gets easily angry. He's used to be in control so he tends to lash out whenever he's not the one in charge, a very self centered man. It never fails to annoy you how sometimes he just forgets that you're working there two. This was more noticeable during your early ages working together.

With time you have learned to adapt to each other in order to obtain better productivity. But still sometimes you get on each others nerves.

When it comes to physical contact, you guys are basically the definition of touch starved. Some more voluntarily than others...

But just there are moments when Sawyer can feel your hands brush against his when your passing him the paperwork about the experiments, or how your knees graze slightly when you're seated next to each other in the observation room.

You can feel sometimes his breath against your neck since the doctor doesn't know the meaning of personal space. You are inspecting the experiments from a footbridge and the doctor just stands right there, behind you, observing in silence.

And his voice, you have catched yourselves zooning out hearing at his smooth silky voice. When he spoke to Yarnaby like a pet or when he named the a list of experiments that he was expected to operate that day. The tone of his voice was like a kiss to your ears.

Once he fell asleep in his chair after days of exhausting procedures and since the air conditioner was to high and you couldn't really afford to keep up with the business rate without the doctor, you decided to put your own jacket on his shoulders and retired his glasses to the side of his desk.

When he woke up, he silently put your jacket back in your shoulders, his touch lingering way to long

Headcannons about the reader and the doctors relationship pre transformation. Part two of the fanfic I made is in progress...

I also redesigned the doctors human form: tell me what do you think??

#x reader #harley sawyer x reader #harley sawyer #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime the doctor #the doctor x reader #the doctor #fanfic #leith pierre #poppy playtime #poppy playtime doey

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ichorai · 1 year ago

Text

thread ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

words ; 6.6k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, coryo's paranoia, he isn't exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus came late to class. He rushed in, uniform only slightly askew, and hair messier than usual. You moved your bag aside so he could take a seat beside you. With a nod, he slipped into the row and began laying out his books.

You wondered how Tigris reacted once he got back home. Probably worried sick for her cousin and her friend. Your father, of course, was furious with you once he learned about your tryst with Coriolanus in the Capitol Zoo, but there was little he could do when he was off working in the districts. During dinner with your mother, Lucretius Flickerman, and his wife, the tributes and the games were practically all the three could talk about. Lucky was going to be the first ever host, apparently.

How fun.

To neither of your surprise, Highbottom eyed the two of you with disdain. When you had strode into the hall, he remained silent. Coriolanus’ arrival seemed to tip him right over the edge.

“Both of your little excursions were in violation of about five different academy rules,” he grumbled. “Chiefly amongst them—endangering a Capitol student. Yourselves.”

“There were peacekeepers crawling all over the place,” Coriolanus retorted.

The dean’s nose twitched angrily. Then, he fixed you with a harsh look over his spectacles, and drawled out your name. “Since you are the academy’s brightest, and your records have been… untarnished until now, I will let you off with a warning.” There was a pause, before the dean continued. “Mr. Snow, I’m moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you as mentor, effective immediately.”

“What?” the two of you exclaimed at once.

“You said we had to get them to perform, not stay away!” Coriolanus just about spat.

“I’ll add insubordination, as well,” Highbottom replied, tone venomous.

Raising your hand and ignoring the dean’s irritated exhale, you haughtily said, “It was me who went into the tribute’s truck. Coriolanus only followed. We didn’t know that we’d end up in a zoo enclosure.”

Arachne tittered with condescending laughter. “Yeah, and then you held hands with them. Made it seem like we’re the same as those animals.”

From your other side, Sejanus was quick to defend the two of you. “Coriolanus and Y/N didn’t show those people anything they didn’t already know.”

Stiffening, Coryo scowled and said, “I don’t need your help, Sejanus.”

He ignored him and continued on, “That the tributes are human beings, just like us. That’s why nobody wants to watch the games—because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn’t justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!”

“Dean Highbottom,” you called, not bothering to raise your hand this time. “How is it fair that Coriolanus gets disqualified while I’m not? We did what you told us to do! We were just trying to get to know our tributes.”

“Would you like to be disqualified as well? I can surely arrange for that to happen,” he deadpanned. “But poor little Wovey would be left all on her own.”

Nausea coiled within your abdomen. You drew yourself up to your full height. “Well, that would be entirely unnecessary—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the lecture theater swung open once more, and Dr. Volumnia Gaul crept in, footsteps completely silent. How she managed that, you weren’t at all sure.

With everyone’s eyes on her, she fixed her stare on the two of you. Her hair was wrangled back into a high up-do, tall and grey on her head.

“Quite a show you two put on. You’re good players,” she said, voice booming throughout the theater. “The hunger games needs good players. Maybe one day you’ll be gamemakers, like me.”

The thought sent chills up your spine. Coriolanus kept his expression stoic.

“If the games continue at all,” said Highbottom.

Singular blue eye flashing, Dr. Gaul grinned in an unnerving manner. “Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Snow and L/N in that zoo? The people would never stop wanting for more.” She drew closer to the rows of seats, gloved hand trailing over a few of the desks. “I came here to ask the star mentors a question… what are the hunger games for?”

You and Coriolanus exchanged a quick glance.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, as if it were obvious. “To commemorate the end of the war.”

Volumnia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, in a similar fashion to a snake.

“And what would you say, Y/N?”

It was hard to maintain eye contact with her, especially because it felt like she could peer into your very soul and dissect you apart from inside out—but you managed. With your father being such an avid supporter of the hunger games, you wondered if your answer would be what she was looking for. “I don’t agree with the games. But I know it’s because—fear is power. Keep the districts afraid for themselves, for their children, and you’ll always have the upper hand.”

She smiled, wide and eerie. “You’re right. Fear is power. But punishment and fear can take many forms. They can come from bomb droppings, the cancelling of food shipments, stage executions. The question is, why games?”

Defensive, Sejanus spoke up, “Shouldn’t we be asking whether or not it’s right in the first place?”

“You have a problem with my games?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended! The oldest of them were only eight!” he exclaimed. “The Capitol is supposed to be everyone’s government now. It is supposed to protect all of us. I don’t see how making children fight each other to the death is protecting anyone.”

With a sneer, Dr. Gaul told him, “That sort of sympathy might be interfering with your mentoring assignment, Mr. Plinth.”

Finally, Highbottom said to his colleague, “Perhaps Capitol students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the games’ time has passed.”

Yes, you thought. It’s time to let it go.

To your surprise, Coriolanus abruptly stood up from his seat. “Dean Highbottom is wrong,” he asserted. “My classmates, too. Maybe Sejanus is onto something here. We should be viewing those tributes as human beings. You saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Gray. If we need people to watch, we should let them get closer to the tributes before the games. Make the stakes personal.”

“Who would watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes?” Dr. Gaul asked, as if the notion of caring about district folk was ludicrous.

“Everyone,” replied Coriolanus. “Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. People need someone to root for and someone to root against! And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even have them place bets.”

You felt sick as you looked up at Coriolanus with a mildly disturbed expression. If he noticed, he didn’t give you any indication.

“I know Lucy Gray may not win in the arena,” he continued. “But if you give her a chance—I would bet the Plinth prize that she could win people’s attention.”

Dr. Gaul was effectively intrigued.

“I would like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow,” she said.

Clemensia, strong-headed as ever, stood up and said that she should be working with Coriolanus, as his class partner.

With an amused snicker, Volumnia bowed her head and made her way back to the door. “It’ll be an interesting test,” she ominously said before turning on her heel and exiting, her dark cloak billowing out behind her.

During lunch, you sat down across from Coriolanus in the cafeteria, noticing that he had three sandwiches stacked on his plate, along with half a dozen cookies on another. It was a rare thing, seeing him with so much food. Usually he opted for just starving himself to save some money, despite your urges to get him to eat.

“Hungry?” you asked with an arched brow, but he shook his head.

“It’s for Lucy Gray,” he replied, staring down at the food. Then, he pulled out a red handkerchief and started wrapping the food up. “I’m going back.”

With a soft sigh, you started digging into your own lunch. “Hopefully not inside this time.”

He spared you half a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you coming? Everyone else is. I heard Arachne tell Felix she’s going to use food to get her tribute to do tricks for her.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you glanced over at her several tables down. “Sounds like something she’d say.” You took a bite of your food and chewed thoughtfully.

“They’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“Of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “We showed them there’s no sharks in the water. Obviously they’re going to jump in.”

He tied the handkerchief together so the sandwiches and cookies would stay put. “They’re all sheep. No original thought whatsoever.”

There it was again, your wind-chime laugh. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, now empty save for a few bread crumbs.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Coryo. Besides, I’m glad most of the class is going. The tributes must be starving in there,” you told him. “I’ll come and bring some food for Wovey.”

A voice from your right jutted into your conversation, Sejanus’ angry face coming into view as he slammed down his lunch tray in the empty spot beside you. “You guys going to fatten up your tributes so you can finally start taking bets?” he just about snarled.

“Do you think they’ll give those kids a scrap if we don’t give them a reason to do it?” Coriolanus responded defensively, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “How do you think your tribute will have a chance if he can’t eat?”

“We can’t send them back to their homes,” you told Sejanus in a juxtaposingly calm tone. “The best we can do for them now is help them out here.”

The curly-haired man slumped forward, his shoulder stooping like an old wildflower. “He was my classmate,” he muttered. “Back in two.”

Though you gave Sejanus a sympathetic look, Coryo regarded Sejanus as if he was confused. He wondered why Sejanus even bothered to care this much when he was no longer a part of the districts.

“It’s not your fault that—” Coriolanus began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so blameless I’m choking on it!” he gritted out. Then, he let out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. “My father bought him for me, you know. At the reaping. Just so he could show me that I could never go back to two.”

A frown marred your features. “He bribed Highbottom?”

“Something like that,” Sejanus told you, using the prongs of his fork to poke and prod at his food. “Morphling costs a pretty penny.”

Silence stretched over the three of you for a few seconds. Coriolanus looked annoyed, but Sejanus didn’t seem to notice.

“Being in the Capitol is going to kill me,” he sighed.

This made Coryo scowl. “So do something about it.”

Sejanus’ dark eyes flitted over to the bundle of food in Coriolanus’ hands. “You’re quite the rebel.”

Coriolanus retorted, “Oh, yeah. I’m bad news.”

When he said that, he’d expected you to laugh again, but you kept quiet, staring down at your now-unappetizing lunch.

There was a considerably larger crowd around the enclosure that evening. You had a small basket clutched in one hand, consisting of juice boxes (still grape, since you now knew it was a safe option), soft bread rolls, and wrapped leftovers from your dinner with Lucky. You hoped Wovey wasn’t allergic to anything—you’d forgotten to ask in the heat of it all.

Coriolanus still only had the few sandwiches he saved from lunch, but you assured him that you were more than happy to share with Lucy Gray if need be.

She looked much more haggard tonight, most of her makeup smeared off, her lips chapped and bleeding at the center from what you assumed was anxious biting, and her hair was more unruly. Though her eyes still held the same fire, the same passion, lighting up when she noticed the two of you approaching. She asked if the food was for them with slight surprise—you often forget that they hadn’t much to eat in the districts, anyway—and took what was offered, before handing off a good portion of it to her district partner, Jessup. The larger man declined the food at first, claiming he wasn’t hungry, but eventually caved and took the sandwiches.

When he turned to walk off, Coriolanus asked about the nasty wound on his neck. It was just behind his ear and oozing with blood and pus. A bat bite on the train, Lucy Gray told the two of you, looking awfully guilty on behalf of her friend.

Crooning from a little way’s away drew your attention to Arachne and her tribute. She was dangling a cold bottle of water just inches from the tribute’s reach, urging her to beg.

Lucy Gray’s brows cinched. “One thing I learned in twelve is that hunger is a weapon. Your friend over there sure knows it.”

The two of you scoffed at the same time.

“She is not my friend,” Coriolanus told her. “She is poison with perfect teeth.”

“How such a vile tongue hides behind those pearly whites, I wouldn’t ever know,” you remarked, earning you a snicker from Coriolanus. Finally, you peered around for Wovey, eager to finally get her something to eat. However, curse your damned softening heart, your eyes grew gentle upon seeing her curled up by the very same tree stump, head resting on Bobbin’s shoulder, fast asleep.

Lucy Gray casted a glimpse over her shoulder to see what you were looking at.

“Could you give this to her?” you asked, slotting the small basket between the enclosure’s metal bars. “When she wakes up, that is. She must be famished. Feel free to take anything in there, but just… leave some for her.”

The girl nodded, taking the basket from you and handing it over to Jessup, who cradled it as if it were more precious than gold. You watched him carefully—not because you were worried he was going to keep all the food to himself, but because you were curious as to why he hadn’t reached in to take anything for himself yet, even after several minutes passed by.

Coriolanus leaned forward, wrapping a hand around one of the bars as he lowered his voice. “Are you going to share everything with Jessup?”

Lucy Gray’s expression faltered. “Why? You think I oughta build up my strength to strangle him in the arena? Not exactly my forte.”

“I might have a chance to help you,” he told her, watching her keenly. “To make some suggestions to the gamemakers. I might even be able to get the audience to send you gifts in the arena. Food, and water, to keep you going. You just have to try singing again.”

Firmly, Lucy Gray said, “I don’t sing when I’m told, I sing when I have something to say.”

“And you have nothing to say?” you asked her, head tilting. “The whole world is watching, Lucy Gray. Now’s your chance.”

A myriad of emotions crossed over her face. “It doesn’t matter much now, does it? I’ve seen the arena—there’s nowhere to hide. What’s the point?” Her gaze traveled from you to Coriolanus. “The guards say you get money if you get more people to watch and you say you want to help me. Which is it?”

“Both?” he offered.

It didn’t satisfy her, but it was enough, for now.

Then, she grabbed a sandwich from the red handkerchief and took a large bite, a muffled noise of appreciation falling from her lips.

“Bread’s soft,” she said around a mouthful. “Softer than in twelve.”

Then, she offered a cookie to Coriolanus. He began to protest, but she insisted he take it.

“I saw you staring,” she said. “I always thought there was plenty of food in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus laughed, a coarse and unrefined sound. “One time during the war, I ate a whole jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach.”

A match of pity struck within the confines of your chest, but you remained quiet. Coriolanus told you stories of his times during the war often—usually after the two of you laid together, sweaty and naked, bearing your souls to one another. Pillow talk made him quite emotional, you found.

“And how was it?” Lucy Gray queried, eyes round.

Coriolanus took a bite of the cookie, humming in though. Then, he shrugged. “Pasty,” he said.

Lucy Gray laughed. She looked back to you, appreciative. “Thank you, for the food. I’m sure the little one’s going to be happy.” Your eyes flickered back to Wovey. She stirred a bit on Bobbin’s shoulder, but remained asleep. “She’s so sweet. So young. Something about her reminds me of my cousin, Maude Ivory. I can’t stand to think of them without me like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Coriolanus whispered.

You nodded in agreement. “They’re waiting for you, I’m sure. You’ll see them again.”

Lucy Gray smiled sadly. “I won’t hold you to that.” Then, after she took another bite, she blew out a gentle sigh. “You two seem like… genuine folk. It sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”

Coriolanus leaned his head against the enclosure’s bars. “One of your shows, maybe.”

Somehow, her smile grew impossibly wider, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve liked that.” With a light sniffle, she asked the two of you, “You two keen on dancing?”

You thought back to all the dance lessons you were forced to take as a young child. It was never your strong suit. “Not really, no. Coriolanus is much better than I am.”

“Not your fancy Capitol dancing,” she told you, waving a hand in the air. “Dancing like you’re free. Dancing with no rules. Just the music, to guide you.”

Both you and Coriolanus exchanged glances. “Can’t say I’ve tried,” you replied. “But it sounds fun.”

Lucy Gray nodded, showing more enthusiasm than you’d ever seen in her before. “You’d have the time of your life. If you ever visit… I’d love for you to come. Both of you—we’d have a drink. Share a dance or two. We’d have all the time in the world. People always say our music shows are the best places for romantic dates. It’d be perfect for you two.”

It was a pleasant fantasy to entertain. But that’s all it was—a fantasy. When you looked at Coriolanus, his expression was simultaneously strained and distant, as if he were far away, thinking of other things. You reached out to place your hand on his shoulder.

But before you could, screams erupted from around the enclosure, followed closely by shattering glass. You whipped your head away from Lucy Gray, seeing Arachne’s tribute jabbing the broken glass bottle straight into her jugular. Coriolanus yelled something—you weren’t entirely sure what, but he jumped up to grab Arachne, applying pressure to the wound.

It wasn’t enough.

Blood, dark and viscous and filling the air with the smell of copper, began to pool around her neck, down her shoulders, filling the crevices of her collarbones. She was blubbering something, gargling through blood, but you couldn’t quite hear with the loud static buzzing in your ears.

You glanced to the side, catching sight of peacekeepers lining up their guns to shoot. You rushed forward to get to Coriolanus, yanking him down just as several shots rang out. He was whimpering, telling Arachne to hold on for him, but when you frantically reached down to feel for her pale wrist’s pulse—it wasn’t there.

Arachne was dead.

You clambered off of Coriolanus, away from the dead girl, backing away. You only barely registered Sejanus calling out your name in concern, but you didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, you turned your eyes to the tributes, all ducking and cowering behind trees and tires. To your relief, Wovey was now awake, eyes wide as she crouched behind the tree stump with Bobbin.

The relief was short-lived, however, because peacekeepers began urging everybody away from the enclosure. You reached out for Coriolanus, taking his arm. He was shaking, eyes as large as saucers and visibly distraught.

The two of you walked to his estate in tense silence.

Once there, Grandma’am and Tigris fawned over the two of you, though in far different ways. Grandma’am dove into a lecture about rebels and how lucky the two of you were that your tributes hadn’t done the very same. Tigris wrapped a warm shawl over you and a patched blanket over her cousin, telling Grandma’am that Lucy Gray and Wovey weren’t rebels, just innocent girls.

“Trust me, that one hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” Grandma’am bitterly retorted. “Outside this Capitol, they’re savages, however they may smile. She will use you, Coriolanus. You must use her or you’ll end up dead in the trees, like your father.”

Coriolanus stiffened.

An hour later, he tugged you into his room and kissed you hard and desperate, as if he wanted to distract himself from his own thoughts. You were the one to pull away, even if everything inside you was screaming to stay. You almost caved, almost, when his head dipped forward in an attempt to capture your lips again, but you placed the tips of your fingers over his mouth with a soft, sympathetic smile. You hugged him tight until he stopped trembling, and reluctantly drew yourself away from him. After embracing Tigris goodnight, you walked home alone with your thoughts, wondering if the games were going to continue in lieu of the evening’s events.

There was an assembly held at the academy for Arachne’s death, followed promptly by a proper funeral. Though, it didn’t quite feel proper with all the cameras and reporters hovering around. You wondered if people were expecting to see you cry. You were incredibly shaken, sure, but were you sad?

It’d be a lie if you said yes.

They made sure to zoom in on you and Coriolanus when you kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand just before he was appointed to go on stage and sing the national anthem. Why he was the one to do so, the two of you had no idea. It’s not like Arachne was friends with him, despite what the reporters wanted to think. It was a ridiculous waste of breath, he thought, singing for a girl he barely knew.

After Coriolanus’ performance, President Ravinstill gave a rather monotonous speech about courage and bravery. How Arachne was going to be sorely missed. Right—of course she was.

And the very next day, life moved on. As if Arachne’s death had never happened.

Soon after, they had all the mentors and tributes gathered into one of the academy halls— with the tributes shackled to tables, of course. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for them to run. You’d seen all the peacekeepers lining the hallways outside.

“In spite of yesterday’s tragic events,” Highbottom said, not a shred of sincerity to be found in his tone, “our President has decided that the games must go on. Show everyone that the Capitol is unafraid of such acts of terror. To which end Dr. Gaul wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special, televised presentation of each tribute to our audience so they could… get to know them.”

A glorified show-and-tell, you dryly thought. How wonderful.

You and Coriolanus looked at each other for a brief moment—he’d ask Lucy Gray to sing again, you were certain. Then, you turned back forward, where Wovey was fiddling with her thumbs, sniffling a few times.

“You’ll have an hour to discuss strategy,” said the dean, before whisking himself off to the shadows of the room to down another vial of morphling.

You sat down in front of your tribute, trying your best to offer her a warm smile.

“Did you like the food I brought? Was it okay?” you whispered, making sure to lower your voice.

A nod, a scuffle of feet. Her bottom lip trembled.

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you moved on to the pressing matter at hand. “Okay, Wovey. I need… I need to know what you’re good at. Are you a fast runner?”

She thought for a moment, but then shook her head.

“I know you can climb?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “I used to climb in my mama’s factory all the time. Trees, too.”

“Good. That’s good,” you murmured, pulling out a notepad so you could jot some things down. “Are you good at hiding? Staying still?”

“I think so,” she said, looking awfully uncomfortable. “Will I go back home if I win?”

A sharp pang hit you square in the chest. You tore your gaze away from your notes on the paper to look at her.

“Yes,” you hesitantly replied. “They’ll take you home.”

This seemed to satisfy her for the time being. Gave her hope that you perhaps shouldn’t have instilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “So—for your televised presentation. We need to win the audience over so they send in donations—I’d be able to send you things. What do you want to do?”

After quite a bit of back and forth, you managed to get Wovey to agree to talk about her family on stage. How much she missed them. It wasn’t much, but perhaps the youngest tribute sympathy card would push the odds in your favor.

Halfway through the hour, however, Coriolanus and Clemensia were called away by Highbottom—most likely to discuss the proposal Coryo had written up once you left the estate. You made a mental note to ask him how it goes once you saw him again. You felt bad, seeing Lucy Gray sitting all alone, bound hands lightly rapping against the table’s wood.

By the stroke of four in the afternoon, they gathered all the mentors and tributes in front of the arena. Coriolanus came bounding up to the group just seconds away from the gates opening, appearing breathless and mildly frazzled.

“You okay? Where’s Clemmie?” you asked, resting a hand on his elbow, brows kinking with confusion.

“She’s… not going to make it.” He winced, appearing distinctly torn. “I’ll tell you later.”

There was a brief silence where you scrutinized him, eyes wide. Something bad happened when he was with Dr. Gaul, and you weren’t too keen on finding out.

You walked alongside Coriolanus into the arena, with your two tributes in front of you. Lucy Gray was saying something comforting to Wovey in that sweet voice of hers, and for that you were grateful. The last thing you needed was Wovey to break down in an anxious mess.

The arena itself was spacious but incredibly rundown, crumbling under the weight of its neglected upkeep. The glass roof was stained and dusty, rusty slants creaking as they parted to filter sunlight into the dome.

“Welcome to the arena of the 10th annual hunger games,” a distorted voice echoed through the arena’s shoddy speaker system. “Tributes, mentors, you have fifteen minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy.”

With one final squeeze on Coriolanus’ shoulder, you parted ways with him, stepping beside Wovey to urge her into a lap around the arena. Staggered rows of dusty seats lined the edges high above the ground—Wovey was a good climber, wasn’t she?

You tried your best to give her advice. “Hiding in the seats is your best option. Climbing over the rows whenever someone comes to attack you should buy you time. You’re small, too—I think you’d be able to crawl beneath the seats to get away. As for weapons… maybe grab something small from the center. A knife or a dagger. But only if you have time, and only if you know you can make it. If not, just make a break for the seats, as fast as you can. Got that, sweetheart?”

Wovey stayed silent. But she nodded. Nodded and nodded until you worried her head was going to pop right off.

You bent down at the waist slightly so that you were eye-level with her. “I’ll be watching you the whole time. I’m there if you need m—”

Sudden explosions rang out about the arena. Plumes of dust flew everywhere, blinding you almost instantaneously. With your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the ground shake and split and rumble until another closer explosion flung you a good few feet off the ground. You landed on your side with a strangled scream, though the pain only registered a few seconds later. Cracking your aching eyes open and squinting through the haze of dust, you caught sight of shattered glass thundering around you like crystalized rain, nicking your skin with sharp pin pricks.

Your right side buzzed with warmth. Something damp. You dazedly looked down.

Oh.

It seemed you’d landed right on a broken metal pipe, sticking right out of your abdomen. Blood was pooling down your academy uniform, soaking the fabric a far more sinister shade of red. You choked out something akin to a dry sob, before screaming out for help. You heard dozens of similar cries echo back to you.

With a grunt, you pushed yourself up,

“CORYO?!” you screamed as loud as you could. Faintly, you could hear his strained voice echo your name back—somewhere across the arena, you’d wager.

The pain was starting to grow worse. Searing, almost, as if you were being laid over an open fire. You staggered through the rubble, pressing a hand to your side in a terrible attempt to staunch the bleeding, careful not to jostle the pipe. It was probably the only thing keeping you from bleeding out right then and there.

As you kept moving, you caught sight of a large, gaping hole at the opposite end of the arena. There were tributes running out. Peacekeepers shooting them. The explosions had been so loud that your ears were ringing with terrible white noise—you couldn’t even hear the sound of the rifles blasting.

You glanced around wildly.

You spotted the small little girl near the edge of the arena. Running with Dill, you realized, mind still lagging a second too late from shock. Another explosion rattled through the arena—this time, crumbling the roof away completely.

With a mangled noise, you began limping as quickly as you could.

Another call of your name, echoing and rattling about your skull, and Coriolanus materialized right beside you out of seemingly nowhere. There were two of him, you realized. He appeared fuzzy.

You reached out for him, but he suddenly pulled you forward, yelling something. Something you couldn’t hear. A flash of rainbow by his left, and you saw Lucy Gray just barely escape being crushed by a large stone support column.

More crumbling ceiling. Coriolanus’ hands were cold when he urgently shoved you forward. So hard that you went tumbling down, screaming with the sudden painful jolts the metal pipe sent shooting up your spine. A second later, you blearily looked around for Coriolanus—realizing that he’d pushed you into the clear when you found him pinned down under heavy foundational slants—and they’d caught on fire.

Numb panic shot through your mind. You barely registered your own voice croaking out his name. You tried to crawl towards him, but he only seemed to get farther away.

The last thing you saw before your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you went careening backwards was the rainbow dress, and wild, dark hair.

The hospital bed was far from comfortable, but you’d been so tired you were knocked out for half of the day. Though, Tigris told you that you did sort of wake up at some point in the night, mumbling Coriolanus’ name with half-cracked eyes, before falling right back asleep.

He’d startled awake before you—rushing to your bed (right beside his) and taking your limp hand in his cold, clammy one. Brushed the hair away from your forehead and muttered apologies and please don’t die like they were a mantra.

When you finally stirred, you nearly burst into tears upon seeing Coriolanus.

“I thought you died,” you dry-sobbed. Your side ached considerably with the effort. “I thought I was going to die.”

He drew you into a loose hug, careful to avoid your bandaged midriff. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I love you—I’m not going anywhere, okay? Lucy Gray saved you. Saved us.”

“She did?” you croaked, voice soft. Yes, you sort of remembered. It was all a blur.

“She caught you before you could crack your head open on the ground,” said another voice. You turned your stiff neck to see Sejanus at the foot of the other side of your bed, next to Tigris, who was running her hand up and down your arm in a comforting manner.

You blew out a shaky sigh. Your head pulsed, and you suddenly felt nauseous. “What… what happened?”

They took turns explaining. Rebel bombing. The dead tributes. The president’s son, Felix, in critical condition. Sejanus’ tribute missing. How the games were still commencing regardless. The pipe that had been lodged in your abdomen missing any vital organs. How you were lucky to be alive.

“Wovey?” you whispered. “Is she okay?”

Coriolanus smoothed a hand over your head. “She’s okay. Not one of the ones that died.”

“Lucy Gray?” you whispered.

“Alive. She could have run. She stayed back to help you and me,” he said as his hand traveled down to gently cup your face. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I owe her now. She saved the love of my life.”

“Oh, Coryo—are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your gaze roamed all over his form, clad in an identical hospital gown.

“A few burns and bruises. Nothing compared to you.”

You drew in a staggered breath. Every muscle and tendon in your body screamed with even the slightest movements.

Tigris squeezed your hand. “We were so worried for you. Coriolanus couldn’t sleep all night. Your mother came by earlier but she had to leave—a spill in the lab, or something. And your father sends his love from district two. Your mother said he was furious. Military is doubling down.”

“Typical,” you whispered, supplying the three with half a weary smile, glad that they were there for you. “I can’t believe they’re going on with the games tomorrow. This is absurd.”

“They don’t want to seem weak,” Sejanus bitterly replied. “But you woke up just in time. The televised presentations are starting soon.”

Nearly an hour later, Sejanus switched on the television set hanging in front of the beds. Tribute after tribute went by, most of them appearing gaunt and exhausted. True to what the two of you had discussed, Wovey got on stage and talked about her family back in district eight, despite looking rather shaken. The audience crooned and sighed with pity. Donations were sparse, but still more than you had expected, to your bittersweet relief. You watched from the hospital bed, curled up with Tigris at the head of it, your head on her shoulder, whilst Sejanus and Coriolanus were standing far closer to the curved screen.

Lucy Gray was the last to go on. She had a guitar with her. And she sang a beautiful song—one about a boy back from home, she said. The audience cheered and sniffled. Even the nurses stopped their bustling to watch, some of them discreetly wiping away tears.

Once visiting hours were over and Tigris and Sejanus were shooed out of the hospital, Coriolanus sat beside you and slung an arm over your shoulder. He slotted his fingers beneath your chin and kissed you deeply. It was a slow embrace, with not a hint of sexual intentions—he just wanted to hold you. Remind himself that you were still alive, still here, still his.

Your nose nudged his when he laid his forehead over yours. The two of you breathed in each other’s comforting presence. Just the two of you. It reminded you of when times were so… uncomplicated. Before all the mentoring came along, the only things you had to worry about were grades and Coriolanus’ refusals to eat properly.

Then, he told you about Clemensia. How she was probably somewhere in this very building. How she screamed when she was bitten by the snake muttation. Your mind raced with questions, but you yawned instead and leaned against his chest.

“I love you, too, Coryo,” you whispered into his hospital gown, realizing you hadn’t said it back earlier.

A few minutes later, you were back asleep. Coriolanus was careful not to wake you when he laid you back down. Tucked the blanket up to your chin. He kissed your hairline once more, regarding you with a fond expression, before straightening, trying his best to ignore the aches blossoming over his back and legs.

And then he left the ward, assuring the doctors that he was fine and he could be discharged. They reluctantly agreed after a brief check-up, and had him sign off for himself. Once he was out, he immediately set off for the arena, trying to search for something, anything to keep his tribute alive.

Tunnels. The ground had collapsed into them, giving Lucy Gray a perfect place to run and hide. He went back home, making sure Grandma’am and Tigris were asleep—before pouring a copious amount of powdered rat poison into his late mother’s compact.

It was cheating. But you and Sejanus had both said it before—he was a rebel by nature. Bad news.

He visited the zoo enclosure and gave it to her then, informing her of the tunnels. Wiped her tears with a handkerchief, then told her he owed her his life and more. That you were okay, and it was all thanks to her. Lucy Gray looked overwhelmed for a moment. She did what any decent person would, she thought. He promised her that she’d get out. Return home to the Covey. False hope whispered unrealistic dreams into her ears and she let herself listen.

“We all do things we’re not proud of to survive,” he whispered when Lucy Gray attempted to protest, not wanting to poison anyone. He pushed the compact firmly into her hands. “Do it for your family.”

Conflict warred across her features. She nodded once, then twice.

Coriolanus' expression set with determination. “We are going to win this, Lucy Gray. We’re going to win this together. I’m going to get you home.”

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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rabotimagines · 13 days ago

Text

"Pet names" pt4 GN BOT Reader + Soundwave (His cassettes), Starscream, Megatron

Summary: Reader has become partial to using human pet names for everyone.

Warnings: Megatron mentions of thinking of hitting Reader but it's light hearted all things considered.

G1 characters: Soundwave (and his cassettes), Starscream, Megatron

Genre/Theme: Platonic/light crush vibes

Notes: Con Bot Reader! Reader is higher ranking in the Decepticons and knows how to fight. Reader is said to be more loyal to the cause then Megatron necessarily. Reader is written as older bot in mind.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Soundwave Isn't expecting too much to go wrong today, since it was only an inventory day on the nemesis. You pass him the datapads he requested from you and he almost immediately drops them all when you speak. "Here ya go, Love. let me know if there's any issues with 'em" Soundwave freezes at the term but also has no feasible clue as to what his next course of action should be in this situation. But at his sudden silence you only meet his visor and a smile curls on your derma. And then your em field brushes warm across his side- But Soundwave doesn't say anything when you then turn on your pede and head to go back to your own tasks. And Soundwave is stuck standing with a stack of datapads in his servos for longer than he'd admit to, till he finally forces himself to place the pile on his desk. Then Ravage comes running back a few joors later asking to dock and he complies- and is promptly hit by the visual of you calling Skywarp "Babe" and he's suddenly now aware you've just seemingly begun to do this.

Soundwave admittedly does enjoy it. It was simple and there was no harm to your actions. A smile there, a name there, em field warm to the touch and filled with something almost... delicate. Soundwave did admittedly crave some form of domesticity, it was quite literally embedded in his coding with his frame type. The Decepticons didn't operate on such things so he's long learned to savor the small moments he'd occasionally share with his cassettes behind closed doors. But the affections you offered would make his frame want to instinctively lean forward for your em field to simply feather across his frame faster. So Soundwave allows himself the small enjoyment since there's no deceit in your field or frame when you do so. It's something that soothes the slight ache of wariness in his joints and fills the gaps in his plating.

Theres also the fact he's gotten a heaping amount of blackmail from recording the other Decepticons various reactions to your actions. Some were obviously violent with you promptly putting unruly soldiers back in their places before calling them sweet names again with a hint of bite when they were flat on their afts. He knows you know how to handle yourself and you were still a high ranking officer so the only one who could technically order you to stop was Megatron himself. But you didn't tend to report the insubordination itself. So Soundwave may as well keep the acting out recorded for when he needs to remind someone that Soundwave has his own ways of keeping the rabble in line. There was also the few recordings of some who didn't fight back and optics would brighten harsh enough their faceplates would either risk coloring or would color cobalt. Which were also quite a good source of blackmail for Soundwave.

For the cassettes it's only funny when it's someone else. Whether it's Soundwave or another one of them your attention is on. They're smiling and chuckling over whoever is on the receiving end. Laserbeak and Ravage are the fastest to not care about image since their already prone to physical attention due to both their alt modes being beasts. Getting a helm pat while you coo and call them "Gorgeous" has them both pushing back against you fast for more affection. The twins (and Buzzsaw) are hardafts about it, Scoffing and turning their olfactories up at you. Rumble actually does enjoy it a lot but you wouldn't be able to squeeze that outta him. No chance in pit! They all collectively enjoy watching Soundwave being on the receiving end more though. They can physically feel Soundwaves reactions to your affections and its hysterical every time Soundwave is shocked for half a nanoklick before bashfulness gets snuffed out of the bond link. (It's never fast enough that the cassettes can't feel it first though).

They're little slaggers and will not hesitate to push you to interact with Soundwave for something even if they do have the information just because they wanna see you inflicted on Soundwave. Soundwave catches on fast however and immediately begins doing the opposite to them. Turning you on his cassettes for something even when Soundwave already has the information, and watching them promptly fumble with the attention. You've unknowingly become a game to them all which is who can they get to interact with you and watch their optics brighten in real time. It's funnier if whichever con tries to fight you for it because the cassettes already know they're gonna just watch you knock somebot on their aft.

Starscream is ranting about Megatrons latest easily avoidable battle fumble that could have been avoided, if he allowed Starscream to kill Optimus last battle instead of stupidly let the mech get back up again. It was time for a high command meeting and it's you and him waiting on Soundwave and Megatron. Starscream knew you entertained his ideas and Starscream knew sparkdamn well your loyalties lied more with the cause then Megatron. So he wastes no chance to try and persuade you to join his side over Megatrons whenever he can. You just leaned your faceplate against your own servo which was propped up on the meeting table. "Darling, you know perfectly well how he is with Prime. He's possessive, and knows he'll only get to kill him once. Megatron wants to savor the death of Optimus Prime." You stated as if it were so matter of factually and not simply that your bumbling leader did whatever he pleased regardless of if it was detrimental to the Decepticon cause.

He thinks on what you'd said longer and scoffs, his wings flicking at the battle memory. Then his optics widen a touch when he thinks you'd just called him "Darling"? No No you definitely had just started that statement off by calling Starscream darling. Starscreams gaze snaps back to you with questions but your expression betrayed nothing at all, expression and em field completely neutral. Had you- Not realized you'd done that? You met Starscreams gaze and a smirk curled on your derma. "What's wrong, love?" Your em field lightly brushing against his side has Starscreams expression furrowing before he can even attempt to hide his own befuddlement. Then Megatron walked into the room with Soundwave and both your helms snapped to them instead. Starscream doesn't know what the pit you were playing at then but then sees you say something flirtatious with Skywarp of all bots- then Soundwave, and then hes demanding to know if you've had your personality module shorted when they weren't looking. But you just smirked at him in the infuriating way you did and say "What? I just think the Cons could use a little TLC." Starscream cannot hide his sneer when you explain what "TLC" means. You were Decpticon warriors! Not blasted organics in a cheap shoddy excuse for a romantic film. Skywarp actually growled at him when Starscream told him to act like his sparkdamned position, and not hike his wings so high in the air when you interacted with him. Growled at him! Starscream was going to shoot that idiot the next chance he got.

Starscream hates your little excuse of a habit and he's starting to hate interacting with you. Every meeting is an infuriating term, or smile, or all spark forbid you try and fan your em field out against him again- he might just threaten to end you there and then! Starscream was a war frame! Not just any war frame but the second in command in the Decepticons! Your position aside, you still were not above Starscream in rank! The only time he actually lets you is on accident- when his guard drops. Starscream returned from a mission with an earth item they needed for their plans and had to outgun and quickly outrun the Autobots by himself. And what does he get when he returns? Megatrons infuriating unappreciative aft telling him he should've been faster. Starscream is seething off to the side when a servo grasps his arm and Starscream whips his helm around ready to fight, obviously, and its you. "Great job out there, Darling." You say with a smile and your em field fully presses against Starscream and it is warm. Your thumb rubs a slow press against were you're holding his arm and then you simply let go and leave.

Starscream would have shot you if his embarrassment caught up to him before you'd left. But instead he's stuck standing there like a fool alone with his wings hiked high in the air without his own input. His own optics burning. Starscreams engine growled under his own vents and he stomped off to go get ready for the impending battle. He was going to slag you for this foolery one day! (Starscream does not even entertain to fleeting thought to find you to next time he completes a task. The thoughts dead and smelted as soon as it has the audacity to form.)

Megatron knows were your loyalties lie but you were competent and a good solider so he has no qualms with them. After all you'd simply stated you'd tell him yourself if you thought you had to kill him for the sake of the Decepticon cause. Megatron laughed knowing you were completely and utterly serious about that. He simply offered the same sentimentality back to you. He'd known you for a very very long time so the clarity of were you both stood on any situation was typically warranted. That said after vorns of knowing you he's still not ready when your giving him your verbal report and you hold out the datapad with the written report still on the screen for him to take. "All that said not too much to regard about, Sweetspark. Thankfully the mission went off without much of a hitch." Megatron stops were he is and at that point he's in the middle of taking the datapad, servo still holding onto the electronic device and held in front of himself. And Megatron stares back at you letting what you'd just said settle in the silence. You don't open your mouth again to explain yourself so Megatron opens his.

"Are you- overcharged you fool? What... buffoonery are you trying to accomplish here?" And Megatron looks at your optics to genuinely check if they are any brighter as a sign of overcharge but their the same brightness they always typically are. He watches a smirk curl on your derma and feels amusement fan in your em field- He knows because Megatron can blatantly feel it brushing against his chassis. It's not strictly unpleasant- but it is foreign enough he has to suppress the instinctive urge to pull back.

"Ah, Sorry Sir," Your em field flexes warmer when the word leaves your mouth, "Learned that praise is apparently shown to encourage morale and good behavior. It's been working with the other cons so far. Even got some of the usual misbehaving rabble to start acting more... proper." You were doing this with the soldiers.

"Has it now?" You only nodded unperturbed still by the situation. You were competent and if the unruly soldiers listened when you had no regard for indulging the brutes in such a thing he couldn't exactly argue against it. However- "Hm, Do not use such terms when we're not alone. It would be ill advised for the others to hear me referred to by such things." Your smirk widens and further amusement curls against Megatrons frame and he as to resist to urge to try and strike you for it. Knowing fully well you'd more than likely dodge and would rightfully try and strike him one back. (Before likely booking it out of his throne room before Megatron could stand properly.) Megatron enjoys it more than he would ever admit, even to you. Your smile, Your unrestrained em field, and he even enjoys the rather confounded little names you'd use whenever you were alone with one another. It didn't make much logical sense considering how ridiculous the entire affair was but Megatron wanted you to continue doing it. And Megatron was never restrained with his own desires.

He does however restrain himself when he suddenly gets the baffling urge to reach a servo out and brush his knuckles against your faceplate one night. Something so ridiculously... chummy was not something Megatron would stoop low enough to perform. So he instead lets his plating lax a touch more than usual when your em field brushes against his own frame. You were simply putting work into the sanctity of the Deception cause. Nothing more, nothing less...

#transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #transformers x y/n #transformers #x reader #megatron x reader #starscream x reader #soundwave x reader #rabot writes #💛

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fartcloudfartcloud · 5 months ago

Note

What about Logan meeting a reader with more dominance than him? Like what would he do, what would he want to do to them?

*giggles and wrings hands together* You've found my achilles heel mr.69

i dont know if this is what you wanted but im using this as my excuse to write FREAKY SUBMISSIVE LOGAN PORN!!!

warnings: Edging, Logan being mean and then begging on his knees a second later, i do say reader is "5 foot whatever" but if that doesnt apply just ignore it lmao, I do describe him as almost crying every now and then so if that turns u off this might be a skip

This is short (1.5k) but I love submissive men so do NOT be afraid to lmk if you want more :)

Personally, I was raised by a woman way too strong headed to ever be the stereotype of submission, and I'm sure a lot of you share the same sentiment in some way or another. I was always told to never let a man tell me what to do, and I can picture a reader being the exact same way.

Not mean, not bullheaded or rude, but strong. Tough. Logan had expected to blow through you like he had the rest of his team (or at least how he thought he did, though he was a lot tougher in his head than in action). But when he stood up to you, all 5 foot whatever of you, it felt like you were standing eye to eye.

You did exactly as you were taught, chin up and shoulders back as you spoke with confidence, and it easily had you slipping into positions of power in the mansion with ease. He admired you from afar for a while, watched as you seamlessly commanded a room, effortlessly organizing missions and handling insubordinate children like it was nothing.

Logan couldn't describe where the attraction came from. Originally, he thought it was his manly man urges to take a dominant woman and make her pine for him, but you and I both know that's not why you got him going.

If you were to ask him right now in his current scenario, he wouldn't be able to tell you which was his favorite part. Not sure if it's you under him in between his knees, looking up and fluttering your pretty eyelashes at him like has something to behold; or if it's your firm grip around his cock, effortlessly bringing him so close to the edge before you manhandle him back down to earth.

It had only been once so far, but you had gotten him bad. Your hands all sloppy and wet working up and down his length with vigor, your filthy loudmouth a never-ending record of come on baby, let me see it, let go for me.

All that build up, just for you to -right as he whimpers out a breathless "going to fucking cum"- halt all action and grip your flingers tightly around his base.

It ripped a deep growl from his chest, the feeling almost painful as his finish line is so rudely ripped from him.

He should've known, he knows you too well too have assumed he could get you all pretty on your knees without some anterior motive.

"You want something?" You ask him innocently, that stupid pretty smile still spread across your face. He grinds his teeth as the pressure in his stomach slowly simmers down, not enough air in his lungs to formulate a response.

You slowly start stroking him again, an agonizing pace that has his cock flushed a deep red and practically throbbing in your hand. The sound is pornographic and it's all too much for him.

He's whining now, head thrown back and noises getting increasingly high pitched as you keep his release just barely out of his reach. If he could focus enough to use his ears, he’d hear you laughing at him.

He so rudely tries to interrupt you, tries to bring his own hands down to just get himself there, but you wouldn't allow it. You'd make him sit on his hands if you had to, and when you grabbed each wrist and planted them next to his thighs and told him to "stay," he knew better than to disobey.

"Gotta ask for the things you want, Wolvie." You remind him. It's just basic manners, really, frankly he should be thanking you for still touching him after being so rude.

"Don't gotta ask for shit," He spits out through clenched teeth.

See, that was Logans problem. He had too much fucking pride, needed someone to teach him a lesson. Guess today he needs it to be you.

"Mm you're right, Logan," you've got a smile on your face as you speak that Logan can't read. Either way, he's scared.

None of it matters though as your hand picks up speed and pressure, resuming your prior ministrations as your fingers suddenly massage every spot with precision. His breath is gone as his head hangs limp on his shoulders, his fingers gripping the comforter like it would save him from your attack.

"You don't gotta do shit," You're talking but he's not listening. It's all too good, he's being hurdled towards his orgasm faster than ever, he couldn't hear your jests even if he wanted to over the pressure in his ears. He’s gonna cum, he's so fucking close, and your hands feel so fucking good so perfect and it's all so much and-

"But neither do I," and just like that you're off him. Not like before, this time you stand up and physically take a step back from him, watching his form head to toe as he's forced to cope with his second lost orgasm.

The groan he lets out is primal, you expect to see him start ripping the pillows and sheets with how his writhing on your bed. He’s on his back twitching, practically crying from the ache pulsing through the center of his body. It hurts, he's so desperate it physically hurts, his hips rutting into the air in search of anything.

He has no sense anymore, no control over any of his limbs as he falls to the floor and crawls to you, the only thing he can make out in his fogged-up mind is need.

"Please baby," He begs mindlessly, "You're so fucking mean to me," He's kissing your thighs and pulling at your hands, buttering you up and wallowing in any contact you'll give him.

Neither of you know how it happened, know at what point in the night he broke and became a whimpering messy puppy, but God did it feel good to watch, to see him yearn for you so desperately.

His eyes are teary eyed and hazy as he speaks, "I'll do anything princess I'm sorry," He kisses you palm and knuckles and up your wrists, "Please baby I'm sorry I'm sorry just fucking-" His hips involuntarily grind down, his thighs twitching and his hard cock bobbing between his legs. "Please touch me baby I can't fucking take it,"

He’s a mess, his cock is leaking all over his thighs and the floor, and his lips won't leave your body, lathing kisses anywhere he can, worshipping your body as you stand still and look down at him.

"Why can't you just behave the first time?" You ask, wrapping your fingers in his hair and gently tugging his hair back, making him look at you as he speaks.

"Was just playin baby," He kisses the wrist of the hand in his hair, "shouldn't have teased you baby I'm sorry, please baby please," his arms are wrapped around your thighs as he nuzzles into you. It's pathetic, and if anyone else ever saw him like this he's sure he could just explode on the spot.

"Get back on the bed." You order, taking pleasure in the way he scrambles back to his spot, his legs spread for you and his hands pressed back into their spot next to his hips. He’s disheveled, his hair falling over his face and sticking to his forehead, a thin layer of sweat covering him head to toe. Youd keep him like this forever if you could.

You decide to take mercy on him though, the sight of him on his knees begging like a dog more than enough to satisfy your cravings. Now, all you wanted was to do was so how pretty he looked once he actually finished for you.

You find your spot between his legs again, looking up at him all pretty just like before. God you were going to ruin him.

"Go on. Tell me what you want," you give him one last instruction before giving in. His breath is shaky, his words coming out in a whole different tone than before. He sounds small, on the brink of tears as he whimpers out one last desperate, "please," before you spit in your hand and wrap it back around his cock.

Instantly he's gone. He doesn't even have the energy to moan or cry, he's just paralyzed. His eyes roll back and his hand clamps over his mouth, no air left in his lungs as the most mind-numbing wave of pleasure works up from his core. He wasn't even cumming yet and it already was making him shake.

He should've just trusted you, should've known that you'd make him feel so fucking good if he just listened. Never again, he'll never say no to you ever again.

By the time his orgasm actually hit him, he's laid out flat on his back on the mattress, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes squeezed shut. Both his hands are wrapped in the sheets, stuck in place by his claws that slowly inch out with every rope of cum that comes from him. There's no sound until it's all out of him, your hands not stopping till he's whining and pushing you away from him.

You watch as he recovers, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he desperately tries to get air back into his lungs, aftershocks still tumbling through him. His eyes flutter back open, not enough energy to focus on anything else though as his claws start sheathing back into his knuckles.

He sits up as you return from the bathroom with a washcloth, gently cleaning off his stomach and anything that was coated in a thin layer of his finish. He’s sensitive, hissing and gasping as you gently clean his slowly softening length and thighs.

Once all evidence is taken care of, you look up at him with soft eyes. He looks so amazing like this, his eyes can't focus on anything while his lips slowly pull into a big dopey grin. You let him take you in for a moment, just staying like this with him till he has the strength to speak.

"Jesus Christ," Is all he says before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips before falling back onto the bed.

"Are you going to make it?" You tease, cuddling up under his arm where he lay and resting your head on his bicep.

"I don't think so," He giggles, enough oxygen in his system now, enough strength in him to wrap himself around you and kiss your head. "You were a lot closer to killing me then you think,"

You giggle and smack his chest, "keep being mean like that and next time I actually will,"

#logan howlet x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #writing #logan howlet smut #logan wolverine #wolverine smut #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #logan x reader #Submissive!Logan #ask

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cicerfics · 20 days ago

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While viewing this (extremely charming and delightful) video of a person describing their chaotic horses, I cannot help imagining that Q has been tasked with writing brief bios/analyses of all the double ohs...perhaps as a reference for some of the technicians and interns and junior handlers.

Most of the bios are succinct and dispassionate:

"003 is standoffish and minimally communicative on the comms, but he can be trusted to follow orders and complete mission objectives in a timely manner. Collaborates successfully with other senior operatives."

"005's technological literacy is somewhat limited, and therefore he may need additional support whenever the mission requires him to do any high-level hacking. Alert R or myself if such incidents occur, so that we can provide the appropriate assistance."

"008 is athletic and has a versatile skill-set that allows her to handle the vast majority of her missions independently and without oversight. As a result, she sometimes struggles with following directions from her handler or obeying the chain of command when it becomes necessary. Use Form 4-9A to record any incidents of direct insubordination."

Meanwhile, 007's section simply reads:

"His only goal in life is property damage and he was sent to me as some sort of divine test or punishment for wrongdoings on a cosmic level."

That's all.

#james bond #00q

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newleasemusic · 2 years ago

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Song of the Day: One of the Good Ones - Alex Ludovico

Back from nearly a year-long hiatus full of self-reflection, therapy and partial sobriety, ALEX LUDOVICO gives a scorching single entitled ‘One of the Good Ones,’ featuring Curly Castro. In this triumphant return to releasing new music, Alex laces this Jason Griff/Illmind-produced bouncy cut with socially conscious lyrics reflecting on the constant challenges of his being a black man in America…

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#Alex Ludovico One of the Good Ones #hip-hop #indie music #indie rapper #Insubordinate Records #Music #songs about discrimination #Songs of the Day #USA

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kaszuma · 8 months ago

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Acta, Non Verba | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 3 of "Certainly Yours"

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro × fem!reader

summary: Soshiro had never been good with his words. But you knew enough that he didn't need to say things out loud.

warnings: slightly suggestive. combat suit admiration.

wc: 2,697

note: dialogue is hard to write. So if it sounds weird and oddly paced sorry about that. Not proofread at all and have been busy with work

It had been days since you shared that chaste kiss with the Vice Captain of the Third Division. Soshiro Hoshina.

The image of both your lips under the stairs leading up to the Training room had been the only thing devouring your mind's eye as of late. And that memory alone was enough to keep you energetic for the rest of the fortnight after.

You remember it very clearly.

The way his calloused fingertips ran circles around the skin of your jaw. The steady breaths he took as if he too had been nervous about sharing your lips for the first time.

And although Soshiro had not shown an ounce of his nerves. Not a hint of his expressions had turned sour nor worried. Hinting no regrets at the actions that led up to that point.

And It had been made very apparent that he too craved to be near you, just as much you did for him. You sought after the lingering sensation of his touches. Your body magnets towards him when he tries to pull away. His bruised lips that had tasted like the bitter coffee of the early mornings, lingered on yours that had preferred the sweetness of something else. And that reminded you of all those sideway glances you'd do to the back of his head in the mess hall during the dinnertime.

Who would've thought that you'd end up kissing a man as respected as Soshiro Hoshina.

Sure, his way of kissing was a little sloppy for the most part. Likely from not having done it for so long. But it was far too gentle. Hungry even. Like a silent plea, begging you to never pull away from him. Like you'd disappear if he didn't hold you close enough. And you had reciprocated his eagerness with open arms. Showing the same amount of need to be in close proximity with him.

And since then?

Those one off glances that used to linger no more than a minute had now lasted far longer than it should have. And people have been starting to notice. Especially because Soshiro did not bother masking his intention of seeing you on a daily basis. Though no one had thought to ask, since the Vice Captain had always been an enigma to the common recruit. Not a stain on his record. And certainly not worth the risk of insubordination.

So it came to everyone's surprise when his usual routine had been replaced with an afternoon coffee break. Followed by hasty footsteps towards the research center which he had rarely visited beforehand. His direction? Straight to the repair rooms where your Lab had been located.

Soshiro had never been good with his words. But you knew enough that he didn't need to say things out loud.

And the moment the door had opened, you didn't even bother to look up from the blueprint you were tasked at reading up on. A smile already etched on your face as you knew who exactly appeared at your doorstep.

“Here for another maintenance check?” You quipped. Knowing how many times he had used that same excuse in a single week. And you hear that familiar cheeky chuckle of his. One that had been a common occurrence especially when he was off-duty.

“I can’t help but be thorough.” He shrugs, amusement in his voice. And you had pushed the blueprint away from your hands. Swiveling the chair that you sat on so that you can finally face him. Just in time to see Soshiro slowly shutting the door from behind him.

You clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “Tut tut. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were slacking off, Vice Captain.”

“Then I guess you're my accomplice.” He replied.

Making careful strides to reach you. Hands slotted on the back of his waist as his gaze lingered down your own form. Clad in that snug pencil skirt that hugged the shape of your hips. Particularly admiring the way your skin disappeared underneath it. He tried not to make it too obvious however. He didn't come here just for that. At least not yet in that sense. He still had his wits about him. Even if you were a sight to behold.

But his expressions never gave way to his thoughts. Slotting himself just a few ways in front of you where his shadow had towered over your form.

“I assure ya that I won't be the only one getting into trouble when you're around.” Soshiro had replied. Pointing towards you as you let out a small but playful scoff.

“Well, I’ll save us the trouble then. How about you help me out with work? I've been meaning to ask one of the officers to beta test the new suit upgrades anyway.” You had smiled, matching the level of his banters. Your chin raised up slightly as you directed his attention to the side where a singular Combat Suit had been displayed.

And Soshiro tilts his head towards it. Raising his brow with a small hum.

“Hmm. If I help ya, will I get a reward for It?”

You had blinked a few times to rid yourself of the sudden warmth in your chest. Already in anticipation of what he was planning. Somewhat at least. And the timing had been perfect when you had been witness to the steady chuckles that left his lips.

Cheeky Bastard.

“Maybe.” You shrug. Glancing away from under his scrutiny. Cause God knows his gaze would’ve caught the way a smile had already etched on your lips.

“Quite a roundabout way of telling me you want a kiss, but alright.”

You had half a mind to roll your eyes. But this was a reply you had expected. And Soshiro had a way with reading you like a book without meaning to. “I’m not the one who's asking for a reward to begin with.”

“Acting shy now are we?” Soshiro had turned to face away from you. Already wasting no time as he shrugged off the standard uniform jacket he wore. Revealing the black compression suit he always had on underneath it. A rare sight since he had always been seen in the standard military uniform that had hid his figure very well.

But with that tight shirt on?

It felt rude just to look. Especially when your thoughts couldn't help but sink down into the swells of admiration. That was indeed beyond the precipes of the respect and hard work that the Vice Captain put into his training.

“Where was all that confidence the last time I took your breath away?”

And you hold in the urge to smile. Slightly glad that he was already busying himself by wearing the rigged combat suit. Lest he'd see your cheeks dusted with pink.

Anytime you glance at his lips, you're only reminded of the time he had so easily pulled you in. Leaving your mouth a raging red and your breaths labored. A thought that makes your heart flutter at the mere memory of it, and it feels as if he holds a sense of power over you. A reminder that he could do such a thing again. If you wanted him to.

The moment the suit had completely molded against Soshiro's body. Your eyes couldn't look away at the density of his build. The way it had traced the taciturn abdomen which had not been so noticeable until now. Often hidden away in the confines of his uniform. The compression shirt had proven enough coverage. But with the combat suit it had always had a way to mold itself into the body like it was a second skin. And somehow, it has always been a magnet for your eyes to feast.

Especially so when Soshiro had fit into it so perfectly.

“You should take a picture, it'll last longer.” He had spoken. Not realizing that he had long since turned to your direction after stretching his arms to adjust to the familiar tightness of the suit. And you couldn't help but roll your eyes this time.

“Really?” Playful sarcasm dripped from your voice. “Thank you for pointing that out, Vice Captain. If not for you I wouldn't have known.”

The mock dramatics were light. Her usual feist had not gone away it seems. And it only makes Soshiro chuckle. “I think I'm beginning to rub off on ya.”

“I suppose that's a good thing. It makes it easier to handle your stellar personality. Now hold still.” You smile. Making your way towards him until you were mere inches apart from one another. Your hand likewise had pressed its firm palm on the back of his shoulder blades. Passed the metal plates that had the symbol of Japan’s Defense Force on it.

You slowly circled around him, hand dragging along the bio weapon that had covered his skin. A silent reminder that he had worn this countless times into the field. A layer of advanced chainmail that had protected Soshiro in the case of a Kaiju sneaking up from behind him. It was impressive the way he looked better in it than the rest of the Officers you've seen wearing it. Or maybe that was just your preferences talking.

Your hands feel the steady ridges of the muscle fibers that make up for his armor. Eventually reaching the familiar metallic ends that traced the curve of Soshiro’s spine. Tracing your fingers from the nape of his neck, down to the tailbone of his waist. And he tries his best not to shudder in response. A sharp inhale is all you hear as he managed to turn his head away with slightly reddened ears.

“You're taking your sweet time. Any reason why?” He had breathed, trying to focus his mind on something else. And not the sweetness of your fingertips drawing honey out of his very being.

“I can't help but be thorough. ” Your lips quirked up, repeating the same exact words he had reasoned moments prior. And he held back a dry chuckle. Feeling the sudden way you had pressed firmly on a particular spot that had him flinching. “Don't tell me you're ticklish Vice Captain?”

And he sighs. Shoulders tense as your hand traces upward, back unto the nape of his neck, where his hair had met his skin.

“Ticklish is probably not the word I'd use. But let's go with that.” He spoke in a lower octave than he intended. And that voice of his felt a little strained. Making you smile, enjoying his scrutiny just for a little bit. His small twitches are something you hadn't expected from him at all. And it was nice trying to peel off layers of things you had never seen Soshiro in before. And you had a feeling that only you had been blessed to witness such discrepancies of that perfect expression on his face.

It was beginning to crack because of your touches.

You had turned back to face his front, hands placed against the swell of his waist. Which was sturdier than she thought. “Does it hurt when I press here?”

“No.”

“And here?” You had moved your hand to slide up onto a layer of plating on his chest. And you hear the way his soft sighs had turned a little shakier than normal. His hands immediately reaching to grab your wrist before it could move up further his neck, where his skin disappeared under the suit.

“...No”

“Ya’ know, why do I get the feeling that this suit isn't broken at all?” He looks you in the eyes. That smirk of his had been riddled with a new expression. As if he had just been provoked in some way.

“Maybe because it isn't?” A sweet smile etched on your lips made him chuckle. A small hum of disapproval had made it clear in his tone.

“I worry that you put so much faith in me.”

His voice had been all but a whisper this time. A deep rumble that had shot straight through her ear and neck as he took careful steps in front of her. Walking forwards as you take adequate steps baback. Until eventually, the back of your waist hits the surface of the small desk. Effectively allowing him to cage you in when his hands had grabbed the surface of the table beside your hips.

It was spacious enough for you to pull away. Should you want that. But as usual, you had only leaned forward. Open to his advances that you had once witnessed before. In fact letting him do as he pleased since you had rightfully poked the places you knew that would get him riled up. And despite that steady smile on his face, she could see how his lips form a thin line. A crack on his usual facade that she wanted to see more and more as days passed by.

“You should be careful when you're handlin’ me alone like this.”

“Why is that?” You tilt your head. And amusement flashes by his face.

“Because with or without the suit. Touchin’ me that way could lead me to do a lot of things to you.” He spoke softly, moving his lips much closer to your ear.

And although your breath had caught on from your throat. You only move in to press your cheek against his. “Things like?”

Soshiro chuckles. Leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw. The fan of his breath makes your heart pound against your ribcage. “You're playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart.”

“Well I won't know if you don't tell me.” you replied back. Likely a challenge to Soshiro's own words. Not at all rejecting his advances.

“I'd rather show ya’ instead.” He smiles.

And without as much as a thought to hesitate, his hand moved automatically. Already moving to cup your cheek with the warmth of his gloved palm. His eyes closed as your lips clashed against his. Sweet as it may. It had a slight hint of deviance in its movements. And you feel the steady bite of his teeth pulling at your bottom lip before it returns to bruising those pretty lips of yours. A warning perhaps that indicated more to come if she kept pushing him over the edge like that.

You shuddered. Moving closer to reciprocate his kisses. Hands already moving from his shoulders to his neck, nails gently raking to the back of his head. Feeling the soft stubble of his purple hair. Softer than she had initially thought they would feel.

Your chest heaved as he pulled away. Drawing a breathless sigh from you, as if he himself sucked all the breath out from that kiss alone. And it leaves your cheeks heated. Leaning against him to balance yourself with paced inhales that made you feel the pounding of your heart ringing in your ears.

Soshiro couldn't help but admire the state he put you in. His hands moved to grab your waist to let you lean against him if you wanted to. And he couldn't help but move his lips down to the crook of your neck. Pressing light kisses on your pulse that he had assumed had been working hard at keeping you breathing for him. A silent apology for leaving you in such a state.

“That satisfy your curiosity?” He mumbled, and you could feel the smile on his lips against your skin. Closing your eyes as you received his oddly uncharacteristic gesture.

A gesture you had understood despite it not being addressed. You were used to his off behavior. More so when he refused to elaborate on certain things you know he's speaking through his actions. And that was enough for now.

You didn't need to understand everything. Just the things that matter. Just the things he wants you to know right now. And his kisses had been enough to convey that thought. Your reply had not hesitated when you wrapped him into a tight embrace.

“Very.” And you had a feeling that he was willing to show you more, if you let him.

And that had been enough for you. Even if he never was good with his words.

#hoshina soshiro x reader #anime #kn8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #slightly suggestive #combat suit

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til-all-are-loved · 2 days ago

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{This Charming Man Part 6}

MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW Word Count 2,464

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The walk back to your chambers was quiet, the familiar thrum of the quantum engines was absent– they had been powered down while the ship idled in orbit.

You moved on instinct, your mind still on the conversation that had unfolded in the shuttle. The datapad rested in your hands, its weight a reminder of the confession Megatron had placed in your care.

Trust.

It wasn’t something he expected or deserved.

But he wanted it.

That was what unsettled you the most—not that he had given you something so deeply personal, but that you had accepted it without hesitation.

Furthermore, it seemed he had only recently begun to see you as a person rather than an observer lurking in the background. The shift had been subtle at first—a glance held a moment longer, a conversation that stretched past necessity. But now, with the weight of his trust resting in your hands, the change felt undeniable.

You palmed open the door to your quarters. The overhead lights flickered on automatically, casting long shadows across the desk where your reports were written.

You had admitted it before to yourself, in passing, but now the truth settled in—you were attracted to him. His voice, the deliberate way he carried himself, the way his optics lingered when you challenged him. You wanted to feel needed by him. It didn’t change anything. It couldn’t. But at least you could acknowledge it now.

Thoughts of your old colleagues crept in, unbidden. What would they say if they knew? To them, Megatron was a name synonymous with tyranny, his crimes etched into history like an immovable scar. They wouldn’t see what you saw—the quiet deliberation behind his words, the moments where his guard slipped just enough to reveal what he carried. They would call you compromised. Maybe you were. But what did it matter when the person they feared had already changed into something else—something still still dangerous, but captivating?

But beneath your defensiveness, something else stirred. Excitement. A strange, private thrill lit up your spirit, impossible to ignore. This wasn’t just a mission anymore. It was personal. You were seeing a side of Megatron few, if any, ever had. And for now, it was yours. Yours to process, yours to hold onto, yours to unravel at your own pace.

And the idea of that—of knowing something no one else did—felt intoxicating.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, but you didn’t start typing.

Instead, you stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking expectantly.

What was left to say?

You exhaled slowly, then let your fingers press against the keys.

Report to Earth Command – Month 18Ambassador’s Log

The situation aboard the Lost Light remains operationally stable. There have been no major incidents requiring intervention, and Megatron continues to adhere to the terms of his Autobot command. However, I must formally address a growing concern regarding my ability to provide an objective assessment.

You paused, your breath catching slightly at the admission forming on the screen. But you forced yourself to keep going.

Megatron continues to fulfill his role as co-captain of the Lost Light in accordance with the conditions outlined in his Autobot commission. There have been no recorded incidents of insubordination, nor any deviations from Autobot regulations. His command style remains structured, and his cooperation with the crew has been largely without issue.

However, this report seeks to address a developing concern regarding the integrity of this assessment and my ability to maintain impartiality.

Your fingers hesitated again.

He has displayed no outward signs of attempting to exert undue influence or revert to past authoritarian tendencies. Instead, he has exhibited a deliberate effort to engage in dialogue, accept criticism, and demonstrate accountability for his past actions.

This is not to suggest that the weight of his history has been erased, nor that his transition should be accepted without scrutiny. Rather, it is to acknowledge that his actions aboard the Lost Light contrast with the widely held perception of him as an immutable war criminal.

However, I must formally state that my capacity to provide an entirely unbiased report has become compromised. Prolonged exposure to his leadership, as well as direct engagement in discussions regarding his past and ideological evolution, has influenced my perception beyond strict observation. While I do not believe this has resulted in misrepresentation within prior reports, I can no longer guarantee that my assessments are entirely free from personal perspective.

You swallowed, staring at the words. They were damning, but they were honest.

Megatron remains compliant with Autobot leadership structures, and his conduct does not indicate any immediate threat or risk of recidivism. Continued monitoring is advised, but based on the data gathered, there is no evidence to suggest he is leveraging his position for subversive purposes.

However, due to the concerns outlined above regarding the potential for bias in my ongoing assessment, I defer to Earth Command’s judgment on whether my continued presence aboard the Lost Light remains the most effective course of action.

You hovered over the SEND command.

This was what Earth Command needed to know. That you were compromised. That someone else—someone without these entanglements—should take your place.

You set the data pad aside, pushing it further across your desk until it hit the edge of a stack of reports, half-buried beneath the paperwork you’d long neglected. Out of sight, out of mind. That business is done now. You had filed your report, voiced your concerns, and for tonight, at least, you weren’t going to dwell on it any longer.

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head as you stood, joints popping after so long spent hunched over. The artificial lighting of your quarters buzzed softly overhead, casting the metallic walls in a dull, sterile glow. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it wasn’t warm, either. Like much of the Lost Light, your assigned living space was built for function over comfort. The ship’s engineers had done their best to replicate human accommodations, but in the end, it still felt like a small, self-contained habitat wedged inside a much larger space designed for Cybertronian scale.

Your “apartment” was nestled within what was originally meant to be a shared mech’s quarters—two massive recharge slabs on opposite sides of the room, with ceilings so high you could barely make out the edges where they met the walls. A metal scaffold had been constructed along one side, with a staircase leading up to your human-sized living space, walled off to create a separate environment comprising a bit more than half the room. It was practical, but being so small in the middle of all that empty space gave the unsettling impression that you were some kind of pet kept in an enclosure.

You stepped into your wash racks, shedding your uniform. The space was sufficient, a small metal chamber with an adjustable shower nozzle fitted into the wall. It was too clinical to be called a real bathroom, but it served its purpose. You had the foresight to bring along your own soft towels, stock of your favorite personal care items, and even little decorative tchotchkes, the reminders of home providing a sense of comfort. The moment the warm water hit your skin, some of the tension in your shoulders eased.

You scrubbed away the day, letting the steam cloud the edges of your thoughts. The report was done. Whatever happened next was beyond your control.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you wandered back into your living space, eyeing the rumpled sheets of your bed before deciding you weren’t quite ready to sleep. Instead, you flopped onto the couch, reaching for the small controller nestled between the cushions.

A familiar game booted up, the television bathing your face in a cool glow. It was something simple, a time-killer—one of the few forms of entertainment you had out here. The crew had been generous with sharing their media, but there were limits to what was compatible with human tech, and even then, the majority of Cybertronian entertainment was... well, a bit incomprehensible.

You thought about messaging Swerve to see if he was still up—he was always up—but hesitated. You weren’t in the mood for conversation. Not tonight.

---

The report was transmitted, you had no way of knowing the truth.

Not a single word of it would ever reach Earth.

Instead, it would land quietly, unnoticed, in Megatron’s personal files.

And he would read every word.

---

Megatron sat alone in his quarters, the glow of his terminal casting sharp lines of light across his features. He read in silence, optics scanning each line with an impassive expression, absorbing every detail. But within the careful neutrality in her, he could see it. The warmth. The distinctly human instinct to understand.

It unsettled him.

A slow ex-vent. He sat back in his chair, the metal creaking beneath his weight. He should have expected this.

It was only natural that prolonged exposure to him, to the reality of his existence beyond the war, would begin to erode the preconceptions she had carried with her onto this ship. He had allowed it. Encouraged it, even. A few carefully placed conversations, an acknowledgment here, a fleeting moment of understanding there—small, deliberate gestures, each one nudging her further along the path he had laid. A path to what?

Compassion was the outcome, and he was the cause of it. That should be a victory.

Megatron’s optics narrowed as he skimmed further, fingers resting lightly against his chin. She had read the poem, of course. He had known that the moment he gave it to her.

Handing her that datapad was a mistake surely- his poetry constituted sensitive material. Material which he allowed himself to place in the hands of a human. Bitterness flushed through his systems. He could almost taste putrid fools energon on his glossa at the thought of meeting her wet eyes again wide and searching. He hated it.

The hatred and rage could only flare so much. The darkness that had penetrated his spark ran deeply, at one time the well of contempt he could draw from was endless. Now as he reached for more venom he could grasp at nothing more. And when the anger was gone only guilt and regret remained to take its place.

He would have to walk it—no matter how much it unsettled him. No matter how much it forced him to confront the parts of himself he had buried.

Megatron’s hand hovered over the terminal, just for a klik before typing.

We regret to inform you that your resignation request is currently pending due to an unforeseen bureaucratic delay. Our department is working diligently to process all outstanding submissions, and we will notify you as soon as your request has been reviewed.

He read it over once, then sent it.

The lie sat uneasily in his systems, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. She needed to stay. That much was clear. The reasons, however, were harder to pin down. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t even about keeping a watchful eye on a potential weakness in the crew. No—there was something else, something he couldn’t quite force himself to name.

For now, it was enough to justify keeping her close. To ensure that every report she sent passed through his hands first, to study every thought she committed to writing. It wasn’t control. Not exactly.

With a low sigh, he lifted a hand and turned it over in the faint glow of the room. Scuffs and fine scratches marred the dark plating of his palm, remnants of skirmishes, maintenance work, and erosion of time. His servos had been made and unmade countless times, not much of his original body remained with him at present.

He flexed his fingers, watching the servos respond with perfect precision despite their imperfections. This body—his current form—had been reforged for another purpose. It had once been built for conquest, for crushing those who opposed him without hesitation. Now, its function has been rewritten. The weight of a fusion cannon had long since been stripped from his arm, and yet, even now, his hand curled as if expecting to feel its familiar presence.

Old habits.

He retrieved a polishing block from a nearby compartment, dragging it over the ridges of his knuckles with slow, methodical movements. It was an absent-minded ritual, one that had little effect beyond occupying his hands while his mind continued to churn.

His optics flickered toward the closed terminal once more. The report would never make it intended recipients. That, at least, was something still within his control.

Megatron set the block aside, flexed his fingers one last time, then stood. There was work to be done. And he would not allow himself to linger on this folly any longer than necessary. With a final glance around the quiet, empty room, he stepped out into the corridor.

He moved with purpose, letting the gentle hum of the Lost Light’s engines settle into the background. His mind should be elsewhere—on command duties, on logistical matters, on the countless routine obligations that kept the ship running.

Kt-oom vvrrt Kt-oom vvvrt Kt-oom

Step by thunderous step.

A voice interrupted his march.

"You’re up late."

Megatron's optics flickered toward the source—Rung, standing a short distance away, hands clasped in front of him. He wasn’t blocking Megatron’s path, nor did he make any indication that he intended to linger. And yet, there was something in the way he regarded him that suggested he had been waiting.

Megatron sighed, his expression unreadable. "A captain's responsibilities do not adhere to a schedule."

"Mm," Rung hummed, the sound deliberately neutral. "Of course. But I’d imagine you’d be accustomed to delegating by now."

Megatron narrowed his optics slightly. “Is there something you need, Rung?”

The smaller mech tilted his head slightly, studying him with that infuriatingly patient expression. “No,” he said simply. “But I suspect there’s something you need.”

Megatron tensed, just slightly, before letting his frame settle back into its usual commanding stillness. “If this is an invitation for another one of your attempts at psychoanalysis, I must decline. I have no interest in unnecessary introspection tonight.”

Rung made no attempt to stop him as Megatron took a step forward. But just before he could pass, the psychiatrist spoke again softly.

"It’s a funny thing about people, Megatron. The more you try to obscure yourself, the clearer you tend to become."

Megatron halted for a fraction of a second. Not long enough to be called hesitation, but long enough that Rung would have noticed.

Megatron didn’t turn back.

"Goodnight, Rung."

And then he was gone, his footfalls heavy against the corridor floor, the shadows swallowing his form.

Rung watched him go, optics flickering with contemplation before he finally turned in the opposite direction.

---

Authors Note // This song was on my mind while working on this chapter :)

youtube

#transformers x reader #mtmte x reader #megatron x reader #self insert #megatron #mtmte megatron #maccadam #idw transformers #slow burn #did i mention this is burning slowly?#til all are loved

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quasi-normalcy · 7 months ago

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🔥 Star Trek

About the entire franchise?

Alright: I think that it always needs to walk a tightrope between depicting a better future and laundering propagandistic military/colonial narratives. I think that, of the series, TNG and DS9 walked this line best, the former by ensuring that it always (almost always) stayed on the right side of the line, the latter by calling attention to the line and problematizing it whenever it crossed it. Picard season 1 was actually very, very good at recognizing this line and illustrating what happens when your society crosses from the one side to the other side. One of the many reasons why I dislike Picard season 3 is that it seemed blissfully unaware of the line's existence. But for my money, the series with the absolute worst track record of recognising that this line exists and staying on the right side of it (and this is where the scaldingly hot take comes in)...is Voyager.

Seriously, though. We have a ship in the middle of nowhere. It's a Starfleet vessel nominally, but everyone in Starfleet thinks that it's dead, and a third of the crew are rebels who don't want to be there in the first place. And yet, for some reason...it continues to operate under strict military discipline at all times. The ship is basically a military dictatorship under Janeway, absolute, unquestionable, and (as far as anyone knows) for the rest of all of their lives. When one of the Maquis guys in the first season questions why this should be so, Chakotay slugs him. Everyone wears uniforms at all times; we barely see civilian outfits, even on the Maquis, after the first episode. There's another episode where Tom commits insubordination and they keep him in solitary confinement (a form of torture, btw) for a month. There's an episode in the seventh season where Seven of Nine imagines becoming fully human and the way that she embraces her newfound individuality...is by wearing a uniform. So...when you're little better than an automaton, you get to wear whatever you want, but when you're a fully realised person, you join the navy? Oooookay. Everyone is locked permanently into their jobs. Like we all laugh at poor Harry Kim and his "forever an ensign" problem, but just consider what it's like for the poor guy. He doesn't know if he's ever getting home. Every day, he gets up and he goes to the bridge and he presses buttons and takes shit from everyone else...and that's it. That's his life. As far as he's aware, when he's ninety years old, he'll still be up there with one pip on his collar, taking orders and pushing buttons with veined and palsied hands. That's his life; he is his job; they're all their positions in the military hierarchy and that's all that they will ever be...and they're happy about it. There are no labour disruptions, no: "Hey, maybe Chakotay could try pushing buttons for a few days and I could try dispensing New Age wisdom." When Neelix asks to cross-train with Security, he's politely rebuffed. But they're happy about it. Nobody seems to have a serious problem with this. The text of the series is about the value of human individuality versus the "mindless drones" of the Borg Collective, but the subtext is about the value and satisfaction that comes with absolute submission to a power structure. I mean, I like the series nonetheless, it has lots of good episodes, but...honestly?

#star trek voyager #hot takes

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dovabunny · 1 year ago

Text

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the Day - Not Soap anymore

Cw: angst, misunderstanding

Soap was so sure his heart was safe in Ghost's hands, his place was secure in the 141.

2 hours he stood there in the disciplinary hearing, listening as his every insecurity is turned on him.

Every thing he hated about himself, was self conscious about, or wishes was different is read out loud.

'Unprofessional. Insubordinate. Talks too much. Appearance not regulation. Too loud. Disruptive. Too familiar. Undisciplined.'

He fought back the tears.

'Too emotional'

He doesn't look up from the floor. Doesn't want to see Price and Laswell at the table with his old smug commander he thought he finally got away from.

He was wrong. He disobeyed a direct order to turn back and plant explosives to prevent the building from being used again.

The premise had been cleared 5x in the past 3 years of human traffickers. It was secure and by the docks. They were gonna come back. His suggestion was shot down but after what he saw in there.. he decided to do it anyway.

So yes, he was wrong. No, he doesn't regret it.

But then Ghost had yelled at him over the comms for all to hear. Calling him a danger, an idiot who can't listen, a liability.

Then he reported it to Price who wrote him up for it after shouting the same words.

Price didn't know it would be the third strike on his record.

💰Soap didn't see Price flinch as words he'd written were shot at Soap like bullets. They were taken out of context, and never meant to be used like this.

He sees the man tremble, sees his eyes glaze over. He could see this destroying his boy and he couldn't stop it.

💀 A firm hand settled on his leg and Ghost looks up at Gaz. He didn't even realize he made a motion to stand in his anger. He was beside himself. This was his fault - he did this to Johnny. The commander's vitriol as he dug into Soap's character felt like a knife to his chest.

This wasn't what he wanted! He had been so fkn terrified when Soap ignored him and ran back into a crumbling smugglers den alone to blow it up. It came from a place of overwhelming worry but all he knew was violence. So he snapped and hurt, just so Johnny won't ever do it again.

He told Price, had to. He knew Price had a soft spot for Soap and was also worried at how reckless he got. To show him how serious it was he wrote him up.

Not knowing there was a commander who had been waiting for a third strike on Soap's record.

Soap's punishment: 6 months off the task force stripped of his title as he was sent to undergo training with new recruits. To 'remind him how to conduct himself as a soldier'. All of it at a base away from the 141.

Price tried, he really did, Laswell too. It was helpless. They just had to wait it out.

6 months later Ghost, Gaz, and Prize stand excited on the tarmac awaiting their favourite Scott's return to the 141 and as Sargent. Gaz is excited to hear all the stories of Soap kicking his instructors' asses, Price hopes he slept well. Ghost just wants him close again.

The man who steps off the heli, however is not the Soap they were waiting for. He doesn't have a mowhak, or trademark t-shirt and jeans, confident swagger or beaming smile.

He walks upright, his gaze his fixed but distant, his hair buzzed to the roots dressed in full basic fatigues.

"... Johnny?" Ghost asks as if he isn't sure who this is.

"Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley. Sargent John MacTavish, reporting in."

"Welcome back son. Your room is how you left it." Price says slowly.

Soap nods and goes to walk off but is stopped by Gaz's hand on his shoulder.

"Soap? Are you okay, mate?"

He stopped, took a moment, then looked back at the three staring expectedly at him.

He was fixed now. Like they wanted.

"I'm not Soap anymore. My call sign has changed."

He takes off his dog tags and hands them over.

Sgt. John 'Hazard' MacTavish

#soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #john price #my writing

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stra-tek · 1 year ago

Text

Lots and lots of random spoilerific things about Star Trek comics

Gold Key's old run was written by people who had never actually seen the show. Later they involved fans like Doug Drexler to make things a bit more authentic

This however made them, IMHO, amazing

Blond scotty. Wearing green.

Voodoo planet, with papier mache versions of Earth landmarks which, when blasted with a death ray, cause the real ones to collapse

Spock learns voodoo to combat this threat

The Enterprise completely razes a planet of hostile plant spore things. Like full on extermination of all life

There's a locked room on deck 7 full of evil Vulcan spirits. A yeoman blunders in and all hell breaks loose

Kirk doesn't know what a god damn black hole is

Spock is kidnapped by aliens, has their entire knowledge downloaded into his brain which makes him into a bobblehead for awhile

The Enterprise is briefly taken from Kirk and given to Captain Zarlo, who is a total bellend

Spock forgets to have pointed ears sometimes

The old UK newspaper comic strips were even worse. The first few issues feature "Captain Kurt" and he wears a red shirt. Bailey is also a lead character, giving away which one episode they had knowledge of

Depictions of the Enterprise in their very first strip will shock and horrify you, but after that the art becomes amazing and maintains a very high standard

Marvel did a series following The Motion Picture, and it was a vast improvement, although they technically had rights to the movie and not the series, which led to a little weirdness. Tons of references still were snuck in, though

There's a series of Book and Records, which you can listen to on YouTube and are goofy fun. The Enterprise desperately needs a meal in the art, though.

They draw Romulans as green wizards

They didn't have the rights to Nichelle Nichols or George Takei's likenesses, so get ready for White Uhura and Black Sulu!

They didn't have the rights to The Animated Series either, so M'Ress is a human with weird face paint and Arex is substituted for just some guy

There's an unlicensed Chinese adaptation of The Motion Picture's novelisation (made with zero prior knowledge of Star Trek), which features an all-star cast like O.J. Simpson as Decker and James Brolin as Kirk. It's called The Star Trek, which is a better name than The Motion Picture, IMHO.

DC comics' first run is considered some of the best Trek ever. They're made with love and a deep knowledge of the source material

You know how Star Trek III takes place right after II? WRONG. It was several months later and the crew (with Saavik taking over from Spock) had tons of adventures in the interim. It just seemed like it was right after😂

Before Worf and long long before Ash Tyler, Kirk had a Klingon on his crew

He was a cowardly Klingon named Konom who fled the Empire

He fell in love with a human woman named Bryce

They adopted an albino Klingon/human child with dwarfism which they named Bernie

Kirk has an unhinged, insubordinate crewman on board named Bearclaw and they hate each other

Tension escalates and eventually there's a stabbing

Sulu/M'Ress happens and I don't think people knew what furrys were in the 80's

You know how Spock comes back at the end of III but isn't his old self until the end of Star Trek IV? WRONG AGAIN. He came back just fine, and lost his marbles following an incident months later that just happened to line everything up to make it all seem like it was right after.

After STIII, Kirk becomes captain of the U.S.S. Excelsior NX-2000 and Spock becomes captain of the U.S.S. Surak. We get a few issues exclusively focusing on Spock's ship and his band of merry weirdos.

The U.S.S. Surak keeps changing design, starting off as a sort of Oberth-class ship, then randomly becoming an Excelsior-class ship and finally ending as the warp sled shuttlecraft from The Motion Picture

The Surak's crew include a giant chicken man, a Vulcan hating racist lady and a balding man with a bicycle

They all die horribly and a massive reset button is pressed so everyone is exactly where they were at the end of Star Trek III

In order to make that work they had to bs that the Klingon Bird of Prey was hidden in Excelsior's shuttlebay all this time despite it being way, way too big for that

There's a full on mirror universe invasion

Kirk becomes a celebrity from saving the galaxy all the time

Mr. Arex comes back and becomes chief of security but doesn't really do much

HORTA CREWMEMBER. It's as amazing as it sounds

The first Next Generation comic miniseries was made with knowledge of the first 2 or 3 TNG episodes and nothing else

Everyone is hench as fuck. Picard has washboard abs and bulging muscles

Data is emotional and Troi feels the emotions she senses a la "Encounter at Farpoint"

Wesley is drawn as if he's 10

The B-shift con and ops team are a husband and wife who wear caped superhero versions of Starfleet uniforms with bare legs.

They argue. A lot.

The crew meet an alien Santa Claus and Q loses his powers years before "Deja Q"

The whole Q Continuum visits the Enterprise and they're all John De Lancie but in Starfleet uniforms of every colour under the sun.

After that initial miniseries, the Next Gen crew lose a lot of their muscle mass and start resembling their on screen counterparts a lot better

Picard had a brother who fell down a hole and died as a child. Q offers to rewrite history so he doesn't die. Claude Picard grew up to be Space Superhitler and turns Starfleet and the Federation fascist.

Before all this Q turned Jean-Luc into a goat for the lolz

Marvel's The Early Voyages was very literally Strange New Worlds before Strange New Worlds.

They have a pyrokinetic security officer named Nano and he's awesome

Marvel lost the Trek license quite suddenly, and so the series ends on a cliffhanger where Admiral April is up to something iffy.

Marvel did a Starfleet Academy series featuring Nog and its utterly fantastic

A female Andorian cadet tries to make Nog feel at ease by greeting him in the nude, but Nog fails to take it as an innocent gesture and she immediately sends him flying across the room

Romulan agents with split personalities in Starfleet Academy!

They visit Talos IV and get help from Captain Pike, who's still alive

IDW comics did a prequel to the 2009 reboot where Picard is an ambassador, Data is captain of the Enterprise-E and Nero has hair. It was co-written by the movie writers and was considered sort of vaguely semi canon ish for a time

They originally wanted the Romulan supernova to destroy a lot more, including Earth and have Nero kill the TNG crew. It was the Star Trek Online devs that got them to scale things back because they'd have no universe left to set their game in.

Nero's ship looks like it does because after Romulus was destroyed he took it to a secret Romulan base and had it equipped with reverse-engineered Borg technology

You thought DC struggled to keep ship designs correct? IDW's comics keep using traced fan art from Google Images, and fan art (sometimes with unique ship designs) has shown up on multiple occasions as the Kelvinverse U.S.S. Enterprise

In one IDW TOS comic, the bridge is totally covered with TNG LCARS graphics.

In another, an Orion ship is a gigantic Stargate sticking out of the middle part of Battlestar Galactica.

Wanna see Kelvinverse versions of TOS episodes? That was their first comics run, picking up after the 2009 reboot movie. They start off very faithful and as the series goes on things diverge more and more

To the extent some stories have very different backstories and outcomes

We visit 2 Kelvin mirror universes and a genderswapped universe too. No, Kirk doesn't do what you're thinking.

Q visits the Kelvin Universe and brings the crew forward in time to their version of Deep Space Nine

Nero's time in Klingon prison (from the Star Trek 2009 deleted scenes) and escape is fleshed out

Nero meets V'ger.

Nero mind melds with V'ger.

V'ger turns away due to the sheer force of Nero's hatred.

I wish I was making that up.

Klingons get their hands on Narada's technology and go to war

We get a Khan backstory where the Eugenics Wars are a full on nuclear conflict and "Khan" is the title that little Noon Sing adopts when he takes power

After being revived in the 23rd century, Admiral Marcus has Khan surgically altered to look like Benedict Cumberbatch as part of his John Harrison cover identity

They did a series of shorts called Waypoint, and in the first one Geordi is captain of a future Enterprise and his crew is made up of holographic versions of Data and it's a really sweet concept (this was several years before before ST: Picard brought Data back twice)

There's a prequel series centred around Number One where nobody manages to say her name before being interrupted. If you put the bits together it seems her name was Eureka Robbins. Of course, this is long before novels and SNW made her Una Chin-Riley.

#star trek #star trek comics #star trek the original series #star trek the next generation #star trek aos #star trek kelvin timeline #tng #star trek the animated series #dc comics #gold key comics #idw comics #marvel comics #deep dive

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